


Part Three: A Broken Place in the Road

by laridian



Series: A Gun For Barns [3]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mild Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, characters and ships added as they appear in the story, ships will change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 45,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: Gunnar and Boone get some answers, a lot more questions, and a whole lot more trouble.





	1. Remember Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 has sudden explicit violence.

"I don't like this," Boone muttered.

"Me either." Gunnar steeled himself. He'd collected enough money from the NCR work to pass the "credit check" for Boone and himself to get into the Strip. Now they had to find Benny. He was at the Tops casino, sure; and as soon as he and Boone had gotten in, they'd been approached by a robot represented by "Mr. House," who wanted to see Gunnar as well.

At least, Gunnar assumed Mr. House wanted to see him specifically. The robot hadn't actually said Gunnar's name. For all he knew, all newcomers and gawkers got this invitation.

Vegas looked… familiar and strange at the same time. He wasn't sure how. Maybe in his previous life he'd been here. Of course, he must have been, if he were a courier. Or maybe even before then.

Gunnar took a deep breath and went through the doors of the Tops.

~ ~ ~

Boone liked it even less when they had to hand over their weapons. "This is a setup," he hissed under his breath.

"I don't think so. More like good business. Keeps the gamblers from shooting up the place in revenge when they lose." But Gunnar knew what Boone meant. The guards were armed; the customers weren't. "Let's just look around, get our bearings. See what we can find out. And stop scowling. Actually, forget it, if you're a bodyguard you're probably paid to scowl."

The words the staff spoke — they were familiar, too — like he'd heard them long, long ago. Story-that-moves, maybe, or farther. It felt familiar and _wrong_ but it wasn't wrong, it was just out of place —

_Calm down. Bite down on it. Put it away in a Vault for now._

Boone's hand touched Gunnar's arm. "Gunn. Be careful." There, at the far end of the gambling hall, was the man in the checkered suit.

Gunnar didn't have any weapons and knew better than to trust in them anyway. He couldn't hit a barn, after all. But he did have a surprise. "Stay behind me," he whispered, not taking his eyes off that suit.

"What happened to getting our bearings?" Boone asked, but Gunnar was already walking down the hall, his gaze boring into the man's back. 

The staff saw him and his expression, and Benny noticed that way, turning to see who had distracted his employees. He went pale and took a step back. "What in the goddamn — !"

"Remember me?" Gunnar said, his voice as much like ice as he could make it. "I want that platinum chip back. And some answers."

"Hey, hey, I can't do that, baby, and you know it. There's a lot of angles to this caper — complexities aplenty." Benny straightened his tie and tried to recover his cool. "But plenty of action, too — enough for both of us. But we don't jabber about that out here in public."

_Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you._ Gunnar wanted to say that, but it would come off hollow without a means to back it up. "I want answers, Benny."

"Look. To start, I'll comp you the Presidential — best suite in the house. You deserve a taste of the VIP lifestyle." Gunnar narrowed his eyes, and Benny continued, "I'll hang out down here for a while to make everything look business-as-usual, then come to you. Any questions you got, I'll answer — guaranteed."

"No. You want to play it like that? Two conditions — lose the bodyguards, and we both go to the suite now." 

The weird thing was, it seemed like Benny might be really afraid of him. Gunnar didn't get that, unless "guy I shot suddenly shows up again, with help" was scarier than he knew. He hadn't thought Benny would be this nervous. 

"Okay, okay. If that's what it takes to win your trust, that's what it takes. Follow me."

The presidential suite was like the rest of Vegas: faded decadence. Gunnar felt this was almost familiar too. Still, he kept his eyes on Benny, who flipped on the radio and took a seat at the bar.

The room was huge, bigger than a lot of common people's houses, with two billiards tables and a wall safe and a massive bar loaded with booze, and bowls of honest-to-gosh actual fruit. Pairs, Gunnar thought, then _that's not the right word,_ before he stopped, just out of arm's reach of Benny.

Boone stood behind and to Gunnar's left, and Gunnar had no doubt Boone was scowling like his face had been born that way. But this was it. 

"So, you wanna talk?" Benny asked, leaning on the bar. "Now that you and me's got some privacy, I gotta ask — how is it that you're still living?"

"It takes more than a couple bullets in the head to stop me." Gunnar had practiced this stare lately.

It didn't have the desired effect on Benny. "Yeah, hello… well, serves me right for using a nine-mil."

"Why were you gunning for me?" 

"Because you had the chip," Benny said, as though explaining things to a thick-headed stooge. "It was all business, baby. Nothing personal."

"Then what's so special about this chip, Benny?" Gunnar had a bad feeling that Benny wouldn't know anything about Gunnar's past at all. Gunnar was just a courier who got in the way.

"It's some kinda data storage device, dig? So it's the data on the Chip that's platinum, not the Chip itself. Trouble is, the Chip don't fit any computer I've found. Must require special hardware."

_Computer chip._ And Gunnar knew something about old computers, for reasons he himself didn't yet understand, unless he really was from a Vault — "What does the Chip do?"

"It has something to do with the Securitrons, I know that much. Upgrades their hitting power, gives 'em heft. _Might_ be slightly useful, if you're looking to defend the Strip from Caesar's Legion or the NCR." He looked significantly at Gunnar. "Or maybe both?"

This was all a stupid power play. That was all. "What's your opinion of the NCR?" Gunnar picked up an apple, to give his hands something to do.

Benny seemed more relaxed now, more willing to talk. "I see you got one of their boys with you," he said, gesturing with his jaw at Boone. "Did you leave or get drummed out, soldier?"

"None of your goddamn business," Boone growled.

"Either of you want a drink? No?" Benny poured one for himself. "NCR's a nation of meddlers, trying to muscle in on our action. Well, we got muscles too, and smarts besides. Only reason the NCR hasn't busted up our scene is they're a little afraid of Mr. House, and a lot afraid of Caesar."

There was that name again. Gunnar might've been asked to visit him for a reason after all.

"If the NCR beats the Legion at Hoover Dam," Benny said, swirling his drink in its glass, "they'll turn on us and claim the Strip. And we don't have the muscle to beat them — not yet. Meanwhile, they're all that's keeping Caesar's Legion at bay. Plus NCR soldiers and citizens are our best customers. It's complicated."

Gunnar wasn't sure it would be all that bad for Vegas to get cleaned up. "And the Legion?"

Benny laughed without humor. "Worst of the worst! A tribe of degenerate losers led by a creep. They crucify people for kicks! Slaughter whole towns!" He put the glass to his lips, but didn't drink; instead he lowered the glass as though he'd just thought of something. "The NCR beat 'em at the dam three years ago, but that didn't stop them. They've spent the meanwhile gathering strength. They're gonna try to take the dam again, real soon. And if they do, Vegas as we know it will cease to exist.”

Once again, the NCR was probably the lesser of two evils. Gunnar wished he had a knife or something to peel the apple, give his hands something else to do. He set the apple down on the bar counter. "Who's this Mr. House?"

_House Resort. The sign above Camp Golf._ Gunnar blinked.

"A good cat to swing with. Or was — 'til he stopped mewing." Benny still hadn't drunk the scotch. "It was House's big idea to resurrect the Strip. He recruited the Three Families as muscle, showed us how to set up casinos, negotiated with the NCR. None of this in person, mind you. Did all his talking through those Securitrons of his. But lately? The silence is deafening."

_A robot dug you out of your grave and brought you to me to patch up_

"The robots collect House's share of the take every week and life goes on. Ain't exactly what I'd call leadership."

_Just coincidence we're on the same road together, pardner_

"Hey, you in la-la land, kid?"

Gunnar came back to the conversation. "The Three Families. You must be with one of them."

"The Chairmen, baby, all the way."

Gunnar's head was starting to hurt, up where he'd been shot. "The Chairmen of the Board, is that right?" His lip twisted as he spoke, making a sneer.

Benny pointed an accusing finger at Gunnar. "Hey, we're the definition of cool, baby. We know how to swing. Folks come to us to learn how to enjoy themselves. Of the three families, we're the only ones with the heart and savoir-faire to run the Strip on our own." He relaxed again.

"And who're the other two families?"

"I gotta spell this all out for you?"

"Assume you do. I’ve been away a while."

"The Omertas are a tribe of finks. Every single one of them is a degenerate. The White Glove Society, they give me the heebie-jeebies. There's such a thing as being too polite, ‘if I may’ this and ‘my pleasure’ that. Don't get me wrong — that resort of theirs is strictly ring-a-ding. But my guts say, 'don't go in the basement'."

"So that's your scheme? Use this platinum chip to take over Vegas and become the new Mr. House?"

_Sorry, kid, nothing personal. Shoulda stayed home_

"Change in management, kid. And no hard feelings, right? You're that damn tough to kill, you come looking for me — that shows you got grit, and you got balls. You may not look like much, but looks are deceiving, am I right?" Benny grinned, and Gunnar could see the charisma in the shark's smile. "How'd you track me down, anyway?"

"You left a trail." Gunnar dug in a pouch and produced the lighter and the cigarette butts. "Almost like you wanted to get found."

"Damn." Benny's smile faded. "Look at me, a big-leaguer or so I claim, making all the mistakes of an original loser…"

"You shot me in the head, Benny."

"I know, and I wanna make it up to you. Once the Chairmen are running Vegas, you'll get a percentage. Until then I'll pay you a retainer and bonuses for 'special missions'."

Undoubtedly doing Benny's dirty work for him. Killing other couriers and innocents. "And you're willing to commit murder to make this plan happen?"

"Baby." Benny looked pityingly at Gunnar. "Baby, do you not understand the level of game here? What I did to you was rotten, but if you think House, the NCR or Caesar won't kill to put Vegas in their pocket, I really did blow out your brains."

"So if you don't do it, they will, and you'd rather be on top of the heap. That's no excuse." Gunnar could feel the same anger building up as when he'd killed that fake tech at Helios.

"Was a time I would've agreed with you. But this… it's too big, it affects too many people. I can't get hung up on those details. So are you in or out?"

"What makes you think you can succeed?" Gunnar walked casually to the billiards table. Pool cue, lots of pool balls, another cue. Intercom on the wall. 

"Baby, the odds may look long, but that's just 'cause we ain't done rigging them. I won't toss the dice until we are. You know about long odds, you beat 'em yourself. And that means you're one lucky guy, right?" Benny held out his arms, palms open. "We could make a really good team, kiddo."

"Like I'd trust you? No deal."

Benny shrugged. "Look, you're tired, you're sore. I get it. I'd be the same way if someone shot me like that. But I'm willing to make it up to you, and we all walk away." 

He'd never had any of his drink. Now he walked past them on the way to the exit.

"In the meantime, enjoy the high life. Room service is on me. I'll send up a bottle of the good stuff. Ta-ta."

“We’ll talk later, Benny.”

"Baby, you're the boss. All you gotta do is whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you?" Benny made finger-guns and left.

Boone looked to Gunnar before the door closed. "Don't tell me you trust him."

"I'm not that trusting. Get a weapon, anything you can find." Gunnar went right to the safe and inserted a bobby pin into the tumblers. "The intercom's been on the whole time. I figure company's coming right up."

Gunnar cracked the safe and some money, sure, but more importantly — 

A bullet whined past his head. Boone had a pool cue, but that was no match for bullets.

He’d taken the chance and it had paid off. Gunnar pulled the nice new .45 from the safe, and from the weight of it, it was loaded. 

The first shot missed the Chairman Gunnar was aiming for. But that was fine, because it squarely hit the next one in the face and exploded him. Spatters of blood, gobbets of flesh, and shards of bone sprayed throughout the room. Before anyone could turn and run, Gunnar fired again, and this time he didn't miss his intended target.

Another one had come around and closed with Boone, swinging the pool cue. Gunnar couldn't use the .45 or he'd hit Boone, too, so he dropped it on the billiards table and grabbed a billiard ball. He couldn't hope to hit the Chairman by throwing it, so instead he threw himself at the man and knocked him over. 

Then he hit the man in the head with the billiard ball, again and again, until Boone pulled him off. "Gunn! He's dead, let go!" 

Gunnar swayed, his hand and the ball slippery with blood, and he dropped it. His breathing came in ragged panting gasps, and by God Benny's days were numbered now. "You?" he growled, looking at Boone. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

"No." Gunnar forced himself to breathe through his nose, despite the smell of blood and guns in the room. "See if there's anything you can use in the safe. We may have to fight our way out." He picked up the .45 again. "Or take this place down along with us."

They looted the presidential suite first — old habits and all that — and Boone made Gunnar wash up in the sink, rads be damned, to get the blood off before someone saw him.

"I don't think anyone else is coming after us," Boone said. He'd taken weapons off the dead Chairmen and now carried a submachine gun — hardly his preferred weapon, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "They would've sent more by now."

Gunnar splashed more water on his face. Everything still felt so unreal. Unreal and unfair — he should have answers by now, answers to his own questions. Instead he was no closer to finding out his past. Instead he was caught up in some goddamn power play.

He straightened, and dried his face and hands on a not terribly clean towel. This wasn't where Benny lived, Gunnar guessed. He wouldn't invite someone up to his own room. Benny still had the chip. Chip with a capital C from how he'd talked. The magical thing that would let him rule all of Vegas.

Gunnar braced his hands on the sink and bent his head. _Get it together,_ he told himself. But his hands were shaking, and —

"Gunn!"

"What?" Gunnar snapped back.

"You didn't answer."

Gunnar blinked, hard. "Sorry. Think I'm in shock. Maybe. Not a, not a medical doctor." He fumbled for a clean glass and poured a large glass of water for himself.

"Then we should get the hell out of here." Boone stepped a little closer while still keeping an eye on the exit. "Get out and find a safe place. We don't have time to waste."


	2. I Was the One

Nobody stopped them when they exited the elevator to the main floor. The placed looked a little emptier — maybe the guards were routed somewhere else, or Benny had taken a few with him for security.

Gunn looked ready to either pass out or start shooting that .45 at ghosts. Boone had seen those eyes before, on soldiers, and hated seeing them on Gunn now. 

The gamblers at the tables stared at them as Boone steered them toward the front door. "Try not to wave that around," he told Gunn.

"Holster that thang, Pardner!" Gunn said, with a manic giggle, but he did try to keep his weapon at least partly under his coat. 

If they went to the front desk, and asked for their weapons back, would the Chairmen give them back? Where was Benny? Laying a trap?

A Chairman came around a corner in front of them. Gunn brought up the .45. "Where's Benny?" he demanded of the wide-eyed man.

~ ~ ~

Benny had a private suite on the thirteenth floor. "Most hotels allegedly didn't have a thirteenth floor," Gunn said, "due to a superstition about bad luck, but I always thought that was stupid. It's just numbers. It's — "

At least Gunn was being chatty again, though he still didn't sound normal. If Benny was still in the building, their best bet was to grab him now, but otherwise, Boone wanted to get out of here. He couldn't believe the Chairmen weren't coming to get them yet. Maybe Benny had gotten away after all.

Benny's door was unlocked. Boone made Gunn stand back while he checked the room.

It was empty.

Benny's place was nicer than any other room Boone had ever seen in his life. Good carpet on the floor, nice furniture, even the walls were whole and covered. The bed looked really damn nice, four or five pillows and everything. There were two whole bathrooms, that looked like they might even have working toilets.

But Benny wasn't here. What was here was a large hole in the wall, toward the back of the suite. Gunn went first. "Benny?"

"Gunn — "

"Hi there!" chirped a perky robotic male voice. "Good to meet you! What can I do for you today!"

Gunn went still, and Boone pulled him back, away from the robot with the big smiling happy face on its monitor. "Where's Benny?" Boone asked.

"He came through here in a big hurry — didn't even stop to say hello!" the robot enthused. "I think he went down his secret escape elevator out there in the hall!"

Gunn visibly swayed on his feet. The robot didn't make any hostile moves, and the happy face didn't change either, which was less comforting and more unnerving.

"Are you going to attack us?" Boone asked.

"Gosh, no! I'm not capable of it! Allow me to introduce myself! I'm a PDQ-88b Securitron, but you can call me Yes Man!"

"Okay… Yes Man," Boone said, "My friend here just needs to rest, on that big bed back in the room. And then we'll talk some more. Got it?"

"Sure! It's a really nice bed! Not that I can sleep in one, because of course, robots don't sleep! But Benny's lady friends sure seemed to like it! And he couldn't wait for them to get in it!"

"Okay, great, thanks." Boone just hoped he could get Gunn to the bed before the latter collapsed.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
askd yes man about chip. chip upgrades sec secu robots . mr house wants chip for his robots. benny wants chip also._

_yes man cant read chip. only 2 computers can read chip. mr house has one. other is at fort hill. benny probly went to fort hill. Kyzer camp there. cant let them get chip._

_benny wants chip to kill mr house and take over vegas. yes man can read all mr house data tr ans mis sions. yes man programed by woman at freeside fort. follwer?  
_   
~ ~ ~

Gunnar read over Boone's careful handwriting again. "Was there more?"

"Maybe. I don't know what else you wanted to know. He's really helpful." Boone shook out the last of the can of potato crisps into his hand. "He says Benny programmed him that way." Benny was really into potato crisps, from the look of the in-suite pantry. 

Gunnar scratched his head. He still didn't feel like taking on any big challenges, but at least he was coherent again. Nobody had come to disturb them, or even test Boone's barricade of the suite doors. He'd come back to himself on that nice bed, with Boone holding him, and then slept a while longer.

Now he and Boone feasted on Benny's private stash of food while Gunnar recovered and Yes Man hummed happily to himself in the back room.

"It's good you did this," Gunnar said, meaning the diary. "Since I was out of it."

Boone nodded. "I didn't read anything."

Gunnar accepted that. "He'll just tell you anything?"

"Yeah. Says Benny never said not to obey anyone else, so he has no choice but to help us."

"That's almost creepy." Gunnar's head still hurt, and he wished there was some aspirin or other painkillers that wasn't 200 years old and likely completely unsafe to use. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar took up the pencil and diary now and went to talk to the robot. "Hi… uh… Yes Man."

"Hi there!"

"That's an unusual name." How did you make small talk with a chatty robot, anyway?

"It's what Benny always called me! Probably because I'm programmed to be so helpful!"

That constantly smiling face was more creepy than otherwise. "So I understand Benny and his… friend… programmed you to be this way."

"As I understand it, I used to be just like all those other Securitrons out on the Strip! But then my neuro-computational matrix was completely reprogrammed! To be nice! Very, very nice! I was programmed to be helpful and answer any questions I was asked! I guess nobody bothered to restrict who I answer questions for! That was probably pretty dumb, huh!" Yes Man sounded so perky about that one. Maybe he wasn't as happy about being like this as he appeared to be.

"So this… platinum chip. Benny still has it?"

"Probably!"

"And he went to this… Fort Hill?"

"Fortification Hill! There's an underground facility there that _might_ have the special hardware required to use the data on the Platinum Chip! It's too bad Caesar's Legion built its camp right above it! Talk about inconvenient!"

In more ways than one. On the other hand, Boone had a score to settle with the Legion. "Okay. He's got a good head start on us. If he doesn't get killed on the way, or captured by the Legion, he might get inside the hill, and there might be a computer that can read the chip." It was a lot of ifs. He looked up at Yes Man's happy face. "What do you know about the courier Benny shot?"

If machines could look proud and sunny, Yes Man was doing it. "I knew he was carrying the Platinum Chip! And I knew right where Benny should wait for him!"

"You… did?" Gunnar felt a little sick.

"Yep! That's why Benny put me here! To monitor Mr. House's data transmissions. They're all encrypted, of course — but I'm quite a decrypter!"

Like a proud flunky all the way, Gunnar thought. Yes Man went on: "Did you know that Mr. House spent 812,545 caps hiring salvage teams to find the Platinum Chip — just in the last year alone! Of course you didn't!" He sounded delighted about it. "Or that there were seven couriers, but six of them were carrying junk! How about their exact routes, and the mercenary teams that screened them! I knew all that! Pretty smart, huh!"

Gunnar felt Boone's hand on his shoulder. He was set up. No, that wasn't it. He'd drawn the short straw. He looked down at his diary. He should be writing some of this, but… 

He looked up at Yes Man. "I'm the courier Benny shot."

Yes Man laughed. "I know that's not true!" he singsonged. "Because you still have a head!"

"I'm serious."

Yes Man laughed again, but it was the laugh of realization. "Ha! Ha. That's not funny, you getting shot in the head! I really shouldn't have taken so much pride in how I set that up, huh! I feel really bad right now!"

Just a machine, Gunnar told himself. Just a machine. Can't help his — its — actions.

So if nothing else, he had to find Benny to get hold of this chip. And the chip was valuable for its perceived, possibly real, value in taking over the Strip. But to what end?

"What's the point of taking over the Strip?" he asked Yes Man. "It still doesn't help if the Legion crosses the river."

"Benny wanted to kill Mr. House and use the Platinum Chip to copy my neuro-computational matrix onto the Lucky 38's mainframe! That would give me control over all of Mr. House's defenses, most prominently his Securitrons! And then I guess I just do as I'm told!"

Gunnar took a seat on a nearby crate and held his head in his hands. Of course. Not just the Strip. All the armed robots. 

An _army_ of robots, maybe? Were there enough of those?

"Whoever owns the chip can dictate the future," Gunnar murmured to himself. Or try to. But there were so many Legion, and probably a limited number of Securitrons, and no more being made. You might get control of the Strip. Maybe even Vegas, except for the NCR and the Followers and those Families Benny had mentioned, and — 

— and whoever had an army of robots would at least be able to make everyone else pay attention and listen.

He looked up at Boone. "We have to get the chip," he said.

"He's got a head start, like you said."

"Yeah, and we have to talk to Mr. House, since he was so good to provide an invitation, and then get me shot in the head for his purposes." Gunnar closed the diary. "We can't catch up to Benny right now. Let's find out what Mr. House has to say."

"Then what?"

"Then, Craig, I'm going to try to save the world." It sounded suitably dramatic, even if Gunnar's attempt at a cocky smile probably looked more desperate than dashing.

"Gunn." Boone made him stop. 

"Boone, I know you think I'm — "

"Not that. Maybe you do have a chance at fixing the world. But right now you're not steady." Gunn had already been through a few shocks today.

"I'm fine. I can do this." Gunnar's eyes glittered.

"You aren't. Maybe you're still in shock. What if this Mr. House decides to take you down?"

"That's what this is for." Gunnar patted the .45. 

Boone looked hard at him. "No."

Gunnar bristled. "What do mean, no?"

"I mean we need a plan of action, you need something besides junk food and soda, and we have to get our weapons back."

Gunnar's eyes dropped as he thought, then met Boone's again. "'Kay," he said, more calmly. "You're right. Those are good points."

Boone didn't let his relief show. "And we still have to get out of here. So that's the first thing we have to do: get out of here safely and get our stuff back. Then I think we should go to the Followers. Yes Man said that programmer might be there." And Gunn could get some medical help if he needed it.

"Okay. Yeah." Gunnar scratched the back of his neck. "That's a good plan. And enough people around that we won't be attacked. Probably. Let's do that, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gunnar bust by [Hexephre](https://www.pillowfort.io/Hexephre).
> 
> [](https://laridian.smugmug.com/Fanart/n-F2vdPg/i-8BG7NnZ/A)


	3. Back in the Saddle Again

Diary:  
 _  
I'm fine. They won't listen to me. I'm fine. I have so much to do now. I need to get out of here so I can get things done._

_To do:  
\- convince drs that I am in good mental health  
\- meet with Mr. House. next step tbd  
\- go to Legion camp/Fortification Hill and find Benny and/or chip, also talk @ Caesar  
\- get some more pencils  
\- haircut  
\- find some aspirin or whatever they're using these days for headache  
\- NCR ambassador mtg??_

_head hurts_

_Got our weapons back from Swank — now in charge since Benny ran off. Swank seems OK with this. Dog eat dog world always.  
NCR found us looking for Lucky 38. Ambassador wants to see me. Held it together. Suddenly everyone wants to see me. Lucky me._

_HEY EVERYONE COME LOOK AT THE GUY WHO SURVIVED GETTING SHOT IN THE HEAD_

_Legion undercover also found me right after NCR. (probably tailed them) I have Caesar's Mark and that allows me to travel to see him at Fortification Hill safely. At least we're not fighting our way inside? May have to fight our way out though._

_Also to do:  
\- visit Bitter Springs, stop putting that off_

_Don't remember much after that. Boone took me here to Followers at Old Mormon Fort. Says I need rest. Too much to do. Drs here keep asking me to remember things. i don't remember them!! i don't!!_

_tried to sleep but woke from the dead dragging me down. Don't know where Boone is. Head still hurts, tired, but sleep means more nightmares. dr is here more later  
_   
~ ~ ~

"He takes a lot of notes, doesn't he?"

Boone nodded. "Always has. Ever since I met him."

"He says he just needs some aspirin. Do you know what that is?"

Boone shrugged. "He knows a lot about the old world, before the war. I figure he came from a Vault before he lost his memories."

Dr. McKern nodded. "He sounds like he might have," she said. "And he wants to get back to saving the world, to use his words. What might he mean by that?"

Boone shrugged again. "Gunn's the helpful type. Wants to help everyone. He doesn't like to fight, especially up close. He means well."

"But he killed a man who was attacking you."

"I had it under control." And he probably did. He hadn't expected Gunnar to smash the guy's head in with a wooden ball.

"Did he know that?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Doc — he does have things to do."

"He's not well, — " She paused, trying to figure out his rank, maybe, from the beret and his mishmashed armor.

"I'm not NCR any more. Just call me Boone."

"Very well. He's traumatized and needs rest and quiet."

"We don't have time for that."

"He won't get better without it. You brought him here for help, didn't you?"

"…Yeah." Though Boone had hoped these doctors knew some faster way to calm Gunn down and get him back to normal.

~ ~ ~

Boone took care of the usual business while the Follower medics took care of Gunn. Sell stuff, resupply, listen for news. A lot of people thought war was closer. If that were true, Gunn needed to get back on his feet, and fast. There was too much at stake.

For the first time, Boone thought Gunn might really do it — might actually make a difference. He might also just be a splat in the road if any one of the numerous tribes decided they didn't like him, or if he started talking weird again.

Because the Legion knew about Benny's escape and that he was heading into their territory. Mostly they knew about it because of Gunnar Volk, who the Legion really wanted dead. So why did Caesar want to talk to him? Boone didn't like it at all. 

~ ~ ~

"Boone." Gunnar unrolled his shirt sleeve — a long-sleeved pre-war style, and it made him look thinner, more like one of those men in the old pictures. "How's everything?"

"Gunn? You're okay?" Boone didn't rush to him. Not where someone might see or hear. 

"Sure. I could be better. But I don't have time to get the full treatment. I'll come back later. There's too much to get done." Gunnar buttoned his cuffs. "Get all the Fixer and Medex we have. Give it to Dr. Farkas."

"All of it?" 

"Yeah. The Followers need it more than we do." To help the addicts, most likely. "Besides, I'm good enough now. Give the supplies and then we'll find a place to talk. We have a lot to do."

"What did they do? You can go on now?" Boone said, following Gunnar.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You weren't before when you said that."

"Okay, I'm not fine." Gunnar wanted someplace private, anywhere, that they could talk, but such a thing might not be possible in Vegas. Even the few hotel rooms might have ears. "But I'm good enough for now. The Followers gave me something. It'll help until I can afford the time for better care."

It was only a small lie, he told himself, and if he believed in it hard enough, that was almost as good as true, wasn't it? 

Besides, Boone would believe it, and not worry about him so much. Because there was so much yet to do. So much to save the world.

Boone still looked skeptical. "What'd they give you?"

"Boone, not now, please. I need to be ready for this Mr. House. Here." Gunnar led the way up some rickety stairs to the second floor of a bombed-out building. If they sat down by the front, where a window used to be, they could see anyone coming to this building; they knew nobody was below them, since they'd just come up; they were completely alone.

"What about Benny and the chip?"

"Benny's long gone. I need to find out from Mr. House exactly what this chip does before I hare off after it. Maybe it increases corn yields in agrofactories, I don't know. But probably it does what Yes Man said it does." Gunnar sat down with his back to the wall, where he could still see out the front window-hole. "Boone."

Boone stood by him, puzzled.

Gunnar squinted up at him, silhouetted against the bright midday sky. "Sit by me, okay? I'm not fine." 

Boone lowered himself to sit next to Gunnar, and put an arm around his shoulder. Gunnar huddled into the embrace, leaning his head against Boone. "There's so much to do," he murmured. "I hope I have enough time for it all."

That sounded ominous. "What needs to be done first?"

"First, talk to Mr. House."

"Got it. Then what."

"Get the Followers more supplies."

Boone tilted his head to look at Gunnar. That was new.

"The Followers are trying to make a difference. They're trying to make things better, not just fight over what's left. And when the war comes, they have to be able to help rebuild afterwards."

"Mm." It made sense. Then again, Gunnar probably wanted to repay them for help, and get into their ranks anyway. "That's second, then. What next."

"Get the chip. If the chip really does give you power — gives you control of a robot army — then whoever has it can command attention, at least for a while. If I have that, all these little kingdoms have to listen to me. They _have_ to."

"And make them all live in peace together?"

Gunnar made a tired little laugh. "I'm traumatized, Boone, not blind. All I want them to do is stop fighting long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

Gunnar paused while he watched a pack of kids running in the street below. Scrawny, dirty kids, still finding a way to play, with an old ball and some sticks. 

"Long enough to fight the Legion, if it comes to that."

Boone laughed, startling Gunnar. "What?” Gunnar asked. “You think it can't be done?"

"Half these tribes hate the other half, and for good reason." 

"The NCR can't do it alone."

"And nobody likes them."

"Dammit, Boone!" Gunnar pushed away. "I'm trying to stop the goddamn war!" He drew up his knees and hugged them to himself, hiding his face. 

Boone held back, unsure what to do. The pack of kids came back into view, chasing a scrawny dog that had grabbed the ball. If they caught the dog, someone might have meat for dinner, or at least hide and gristle. Bones for marrow and soup, too…

Gunnar rocked back and forth in place.

"Okay," Boone said slowly. "But I think we need more firepower. We've needed it for a while. Maybe Caesar isn't going to send assassins after us right now, but someone else might. And we need someone besides me. I was NCR. The NCR troops already like you. But we need someone who isn't NCR, so the tribes don't think you only want to help one group."

Gunnar was still rocking, so Boone inched closer. "C'mon, Gunn. It won't be easy. But you survived this much." He pulled Gunnar to him. "Just a broken part of the road, that's all this is. You're the brains here. If you think it can be done, it can be done."

The sun moved overhead, the kids eventually quit their game and dispersed. Gunnar wasn't asleep; he stayed tense in Boone's arms. Boone didn't believe for a minute that the Followers had any such drug, something to keep you from going crazy, or they'd be using it on a lot more people before this. Gunn had lied to keep Boone from worrying, and that was maybe a good reason, but still a dumb thing to do.

After a while he patted Gunnar's shoulder. "You're gonna be okay. First time I ever killed someone, up close, it freaked me out too. It'll come back to you when you sleep. It happens to everyone."

Gunnar stirred a little bit.

"But you're still alive, that's what's important. And you're going to stay alive."

Gunnar mumbled something against Boone's jacket.

"What's that?"

"You too," Gunnar said, lifting his head enough to be heard. "You're still alive too."

They stayed until the sun was low in the sky and the lights of Vegas lit up the city instead. Gunnar gradually grew less tense.

"It's a lot to do," he sighed at last.

"Yeah."

"And we lost the afternoon because I…" Gunnar straightened and rolled his neck.

"Cause you're freaked out. Do you feel okay now?"

"Yeah. I guess. Yeah." Gunnar rubbed his face with both hands. He looked up at the sky with its neon glow. "Thanks for sticking with me."

 _You stuck with me,_ Boone thought but didn't say. "Sure. Of course I'm sticking with you. But I wasn't kidding, we need more firepower. I don't trust Caesar or any of his troops to hold to a truce once you're there. And why does he want you to visit?"

"I doubt it's to make peace."

"And you're not walking in there without backup."

"Okay." Gunnar stood, joints stiff and aching. "Should we go see Mr. House?"

"Right now?" Boone got to his feet.

"Might as well. Too early for bed, too late for travel."

"Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Yeah, I think so." Gunnar took Boone's hand in his for a moment, and smiled at him. "Especially if you're there too."

"We can wait until morning," Boone suggested.

"No, I should get on with this."

They were still holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who comments and likes this story! I treasure all of it, trust me ^_^


	4. He's a Real Gone Guy

A familiar "face" waited before the closed doors of the Lucky 38.

"Hello, Victor," Gunnar said.

The Securitron with the friendly cowboy face on its monitor "waved" with one claw arm. "Howdy, Pardner! Glad to see you again!"

Mr. House had known all along, Gunnar thought. And probably assigned a robot to follow each courier… or maybe just the one with the platinum chip. Just to make sure it got there. But not to interfere, or Gunnar wouldn't have a scar parting his hair now.

"Boss is waiting for ya upstairs, so get a move on!"

"Thank you, Victor." Gunnar and Boone began to move to the doors, but Victor stood in their path. 

"I see you brought a friend!" Victor drawled. "Sorry, pardner, but he's gonna have to stay outside."

"Like hell."

"Boone." Gunnar gestured for him to calm down. "I'm invited, remember? I'm sure Mr. House just wants to discuss business. It's not a problem. I'll go in by myself."

"Gunn, it's not safe."

Gunnar turned to face Boone. "You know what I said needs to be done. You can do it if I don't make it back. You said yourself, we need more help. You can find it. Okay? I'll be back as soon as I can." Before Boone could protest, Gunnar turned back to Victor. "I'd like to see Mr. House now."

"Sure thing!"

The massive double doors slid open. "Enjoy your visit!" Victor said.

Gunnar squared his shoulders and walked inside.

Securitrons with the same "Police" face stood inside the massive, dark red room. The Lucky 38 was in better shape than the Tops, maybe because nobody had been inside in a long, long time. But it was clean — no dust, no dirt — just a little faded.

Gunnar went to the elevator. Mr. House must be in the penthouse. Where else would the whispered master of New Vegas be? 

~ ~ ~

"Hello there, sugar!"

He recognized the face on the Securitron. Jane Russell, if he was remembering right, and wasn't that something that he could remember her but not his family? But he couldn't have named her before he saw the robot.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"I'm Jane, one of Mr. House's girls. We keep him… entertained. We don't get many guests lately; perhaps we can entertain you as well."

Gunnar tried to squash the desire to get away from the robot. "But you're a Securitron, aren't you?" he asked, despite himself.

"Why, I'm a RobCo PDQ-88b Mk I Securitron, you silly goose!" Jane had a southern belle accent, out of character with Jane Russell; maybe he wasn't remembering correctly after all. "We're the finest in personal or civil robotic security on the market!"

"I… see. And you work for Mr. House?"

"That's right, Mr. Volk. He's waiting for you in his office."

"Can you tell me anything about him?" Though if Jane and Yes Man were any indication, they were programmed to be slavishly loyal.

"Why, sugar, he's the maximum utmost! If it weren't for Mr. House, we wouldn't have this fabulous wonderland of New Vegas, would we?"

She should be putting a hand on her hip and being coquettish, he thought. Her voice sounded like that. "Sounds like you're pretty fond of him." Of course she would be. But if she was willing to keep talking, he was willing to stall going to see Mr. House.

"Well, of course I am, silly! Mr. House is just the smartest, most wonderful man there ever was! Why, did you know he single-handedly reclaimed New Vegas from all those nasty tribes that used to live here? Well, he single-handedly sent in his Securitrons to do it, but that counts in my book."

Mr. House had the current army of robots, so he ruled the Strip. But Benny and the others were getting restive. "I didn't realize robots could have such strong feelings about people." As if she had a choice.

If she could tilt her head and look pityingly on him, she would. "Sugar, I may be a robot on the outside, but on the inside, my neuro-computational matrix is an exact copy of Mr. House's favorite girl."

So… not Jane Russell, then. But some real, dead, woman's personality, or however a computer could come close to that. "Okay, good to know." And he didn't want to ask any more about how she "entertained" Mr. House. "You've been around a while, I guess, helping Mr. House?"

"But of course, Mr. Volk."

"So you know about his business? I mean, about Vegas?" Gunnar could see beyond her; the place was nice, well kept up. The robots probably kept the place spic and span. "The three families and what there is to do here?"

"The three families? They're just new money, sugar. They might pretend they're sophisticated, but between you and me, they're not far off from tribals. The Omertas especially are just awful brutes. The Chairmen and the White Glove Society at least pretend to have some culture." High class showgirl, maybe? "The NCR has an embassy here, but why you'd want to go talk to a bunch of boring old politicians I surely don't know.” Definitely showgirl. "Oh, and the Vault 21 Hotel and Gift Shop has an _adorable_ collection of old Vault-Tec memorabilia."

Vault-Tec… Vault stuff. Gunnar didn't hold out hope for good memory triggers there, but it might be worth a look later.

"Now, Mr. Volk, it's been _so_ good to talk to you, we haven't seen a new face around here in so long!" Jane purred. "But Mr. House is waiting, and he's patient, but you should scamper along now and go see him."

"…Right. See you later, Jane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has commented and left kudos. It means so much to me, that you're enjoying the story. ^_^


	5. Crazy He Calls Me

Down the grand gold curving stairs to the office… more Securitrons, and a bank of computers in shades of pale gold. Above the computers were monitors, as tall as Gunnar himself, and on the center one was a computerized image of a man's face. Gunnar felt a pricking in his brain. Something — he should — 

"Mr. House?" he began.

"The point of my inviting you to visit me here at the Lucky 38 _before_ stomping into the Tops on your own was to help you prepare — tactically," Mr. House snapped. The mustached face didn't move. Gunnar felt an instinctive urge to protect himself. _Bad, bad, something's very wrong_ but he forced himself to keep standing in place. 

"Now, because of your _carelessness,_ Benny has fled the Strip, taking with him the Platinum Chip."

Fear. That was the pricking, fear, remembered fear from long ago, something, something _very bad_ was coming — 

"Did you know Benny hijacked a Securitron and used it to infiltrate your network?" Gunnar blurted. Oh, God, that was stupid. He could've kept using Yes Man, maybe.

"I suspected he'd found a way to access my encrypted databases, but, well — this explains it. That would be how he learned of the Platinum Chip in the first place… not to mention where to intercept you, on your way in."

Don't look behind the curtain, Gunnar thought wildly. They're all robots. We're all robots. Everyone here is a robot except maybe me and I'm not sure about that.

"Highly resourceful, Benny," Mr. House went on. "He would've made a fine agent, had he stayed loyal. It's fortunate you came along to replace him — and ironic.”

Replace… Benny. _No._ Not after everything that had happened. "He set me up for an ambush!" Gunnar yelled. 

The Securitrons moved forward a little, rolled back to position. Mr. House laughed, or at least his voice did. "And whose idea was it to offer yourself up as a sacrificial lamb? Really, what did you expect? Are you going to keep giving him opportunities to kill you? It's becoming a hobby of his."

 _I know who you are,_ Gunnar thought, but it couldn't be the same man, it couldn't be. No. Just coincidence. Just the same tone. The same haughtiness, the same disparagement. His mouth was suddenly dry. "What do I do next?" He knew, of course.

"I won't lie to you. It'll be dangerous," Mr. House said diffidently. Because he wouldn't be risking himself, he’d be risking Gunnar instead. 

"I'm going after Benny to get the chip," Gunnar said. It was true, and probably Victor would know about it anyway.

"Good. You _do_ know where he's going, don't you?"

"Fortification Hill."

"Correct. I want you to open a hatch in the basement of the derelict weather station atop Fortification Hill. You'll recognize it on sight. The hatch bears the logo of the Lucky 38, same as the Platinum Chip."

Not that Gunnar remembered what the chip looked like, but that wasn't important right now. "Okay," he said, with a lightness he wasn't feeling. "I'll do it."

"I expect that if Benny doesn't have the chip, Caesar will make sure you get it. More on that later. Be off."

And that was it. Gunnar waited a moment to see if the computer-Mr. House would say anything else, but the screen suddenly read _LOST CONNECTION…_

So he was dismissed. Just like that.

Gunnar was tired of feeling sick and woozy from half-memories. Tired of being treated like some idiot child who needed a good thrashing to be set straight. 

_You don't know who you're dealing with,_ he thought, as he returned to the elevator. _You all think I'm some simpleton, just because I want to do the right thing. You're wrong. And I'll make you realize it._

~ ~ ~

Boone didn't pace, because that was a waste of energy and an obvious sign of nerves. Snipers didn't pace. Instead he waited, apparently casually, leaning against a nearby fence and watching the doors to the Lucky 38 and the street. The whores worked the streets alongside the peddlers of food or drugs; only the casinos could serve booze. Gamblers and travelers and NCR soldiers on leave walked the Strip, looking for vices and a good time. Some of them undoubtedly had "a plan" to strike it rich at the tables; all of them would fail. The odds were always in favor of the house.

In favor of Mr. House, Boone thought. Mr. House controlled the strip, and took a percentage of everyone's take, in exchange for making it a safe place to do business and to make all the money you could off gullible stiffs. Boone had gotten drunk and lost all his money here too, same as everyone else. He snorted. By that standard, Gunn was likely to be very unpopular on the Strip; he didn't drink and probably didn't gamble either. 

Could he really take over these Securitrons and force everyone to come to peace? That was a weird way to do it, but that was Gunn for you. Dammit, he'd been gone a long time now.

Some soldiers went by with girls on their arms, even the women. Locals, from the looks of it, not hookers. Locals looked different. 

This was how he'd met Carla. On leave in Vegas. He hadn't thought about her for a few days now, and it didn't hurt so much. Still hurt, just… like an ache instead of a raw wound. 

He'd told her he wanted her to remarry if he died in the line of duty, and he'd written it down, in the letter he'd never given to her. It wouldn't be fair for her to stay alone, especially with a baby. 

This was the same way, wasn't it? He was moving on too. It's what he'd wanted her to do, if something happened to him. He hadn't cared who she might've ended up with; he'd be dead and couldn't complain about it.

He'd never expected to end up with someone like Gunn, of course, but — 

He came to an alert stance when he saw the doors slide open. Gunn walked out, jaw set in angry determination, but he was alive and unhurt.

Boone approached him, and Gunnar's expression changed, looking like his old self again. "Boone. It's been a hell of a day."

"How'd it go?" Boone clapped him on the back.

"I'll tell you about it when we're private. For now we're getting dinner."

"Where?"

"Where somebody owes me."


	6. You Don't Have to Know the Language

Swank looked surprised to see Gunnar and Boone return, but he quickly covered it. "Hey, my man! Welcome back to the Tops!"

"Hi, Swank." Gunnar had made sure to keep the barn gun uncovered this time. "I'm taking Benny's suite for the night."

"Baby, you know I'd love to, but — "

"No arguments, Swank."

"It needs to be cleaned," Swank protested.

"I was there earlier and I'm okay with the way it is now. I have the key. Benny promised me the Presidential, but you know what? That's too big for me, and I'm sure it still smells like blood. So why don't you let me have Benny's suite tonight, so you can have your staff keep working on the Presidential cleanup."

Swank looked nervous. "Look, maybe you don't understand how we do things around here."

"Maybe you don't understand that things are changing." Gunnar leaned forward on the counter between himself and the Tops' new owner-manager. "I just came from a meeting with Mr. House."

"But nobody talks with Mr. House," Swank said. Other Chairmen were listening in, all around the lobby. "Nobody's seen him since — "

"I just spoke with him not twenty minutes ago," Gunnar said pleasantly. "I was invited to visit him, at his request. We discussed the state of the Strip and some work I'm to do for him." He leaned back. "I'm not going to ask again."

"Yeah, yeah, baby," Swank said, a single drop of sweat visible on the side of his brow.

"And don't call me 'baby'," Gunnar said, smiling, still pleasantly, which was scarier to some of the Chairmen than if he'd ranted. "You'll call me Mister Volk while I'm staying here."

"Yeah, sure, b — Mr. Volk."

"And I want the best dinner for two that you can come up with," Gunnar said. "I'll pay for it. Wouldn't dream of extorting it from you. Send it up to the suite when it's ready."

~ ~ ~

The bathroom in Benny's suite did, indeed, work. 

Gunnar was toweling his hair dry when he heard a knock at the door in the suite outside. Actual running water, he mused. Civilization indeed. Running water and soap and an almost-intact mirror, and towels and even a terrycloth bathrobe that wasn't too bad off. What was it Nero had said, upon moving into the Aurelius Domus? "At last, I'm beginning to live like a human being."

Gunnar paused in the act of picking up a comb. Wasn't _that_ an interesting thing to remember out of nowhere. And of one of the more infamous Roman emperors, too. 

Roman. That's what the Legion spoke. No, not Roman, the language the Romans used, Latin, and he knew pieces of the language. He knew that much. Aurelius Domus, Golden House. And a snippet about Nero's vanity. 

Now there was a knock at the bathroom door. "Food's here," Boone said through it.

"Be right out." Gunnar combed his hair. He was pretty sure he could keep Swank out of this suite, and ignorant of Yes Man, who hummed away to himself in that back room. He'd been lucky that Swank hadn't moved in yet. Nobody alive understood the concept of changing locks, because nobody could do it, because there were no more locksmiths or locks to be changed. Then again, if Swank had broken the lock, he couldn't exactly lock the door at night, could he.

Gunnar changed into the robe and exited to the suite. Two women, too old and plain to be eye candy downstairs, had just finished setting out the food on the table, complete with matching flatware and a bottle of something probably expensive. They smiled at Gunnar. 

"Boone, give them some caps."

"For what?"

"For a tip. For good service. A hundred caps each. Thank you, ladies."

They were happy with that, and Gunnar hoped they'd be on his side rather than afraid of him. He didn't want people afraid of him, not generally. Sometimes, though…

~ ~ ~

 

Dinner was the best steak Gunnar had had since waking up, so possibly the best steak he'd ever had. Well-marbled, tender meat, good enough that he didn't bother with any sauce or seasoning past salt and pepper. The vegetables were nicer versions of what they normally ate, with some truck crops mixed in, and somewhat to Gunnar's surprise, a small wheat roll was included as well.

"Someone's getting wheat from somewhere," he mused. It wasn't white bread, but it was still risen wheat bread. 

But no butter, which Gunnar missed, and no dessert, which could be because he didn't ask for it, or because it wasn't available. But they could gorge themselves on good brahmin meat and vegetables.

"I hope it's not poisoned," Gunnar said, when his plate was nearly clean. Boone gave him a black look. "I just thought of it. Anyway, it's not like we can test for that."

"Yes we can. You give some of everything to someone else and see if they die."

"I guess we'll find out." Gunnar looked at the bottle of wine. "Or they could've put it in the wine. Most of these bottles are reused, and alcohol hides a lot of unusual tastes."

"How do you know things like that?" Boone hadn't touched the wine either.

"I don't know. I just do. Like how I know Latin."

"Latin?"

"The language the Legion uses. And they're saying it correctly, too. The hard C and all that."

Boone rolled his eyes, though Gunnar didn't see it. "You came from a Vault. You had to. And don't tell everyone that you can speak with the Legion in their own language. They might wonder about you."

"It might come in handy at the Fort, though." Gunnar sighed and sat back. "Good food."

"Yeah. It was. So now what?"

"You could take a bath."

"Not until you say what's the plan."

"Fair enough." Gunnar stood up, brushed the crumbs off his lap, and walked to the bookshelf, where some actual intact books clung to a lonely existence. The carpet felt good under his feet, even if it was thin in places. Above the bookshelf was the intercom, and he inspected it to make sure it wasn't on. He doubted Benny wanted any underlings to listen to his romantic encounters or other sensitive information, so it had to be off by default.

"We're going to the Fort to get the chip. You already knew that. And you're right, we need more firepower, and someone else besides a former NCR sniper to go with me. I think we'll try the Followers."

"Why them?"

"Because they're pretty close to neutral in the local politics, as far as I can tell. Nobody has a grudge against them because they help everyone. If they side with me, that should help."

Boone nodded. "We’ve gone over all that before. What about Mr. House?"

"He's… he might be there. He might be talking through the computers, or maybe he is the computer. I don't know." Gunnar looked through the books. "But he's still there all right. And he's… let's say he and I are going to have it out at some point." Gunnar leaned against the bookcase and crossed his arms. "He's an unpleasant old man, and he… reminds me of someone. I think. I'm not sure. He yelled at me about not coming to see him first, and then told me to go to the Fort."

"Which we're already doing."

"Yeah. But here's the thing. If he's in the computer, he can't move. He _has_ to depend on me, and that gives me some power over him. If he's speaking through the computer — well, I don't know why he's doing that, but nobody's seen him in ages, so maybe he's an invalid or in a wheelchair. Something that keeps him from going out in public. And again, if he's depending on me, I have some power and some freedom."

"Is that pajamas?" Boone asked.

"What? This robe?" Gunnar looked down at it. It was knee-length and had originally been royal blue. "No, it's just for… you wear it over pajamas, see, or after a bath."

"There's a lot of clothes here," Boone said, nodding toward the dresser and wardrobe. "I looked while you were washing up."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No pajamas like what you have at Novac, though."

Gunnar felt the heat creep into his cheeks at that. "Yeah, well, maybe Benny wasn't a pajamas type of guy," he said. 

"Lots of pre-war stuff. And then those suits the Chairmen wear."

"Okay." Gunnar tried to get back on track. "So, to get the Followers on our side, I'll have to help them out some more. They're chronically short on medical supplies, and they're dealing with problems because of local politics with the Kings, long story short. I'll talk with the Kings and get them to cut the Followers a break. Then maybe I can get someone to go with me to the Fort."

"Most would say that's a suicide mission," Boone commented.

"Hey, I've got the Mark of Caesar, don't I?" The coin with the bull on it, pierced and threaded on a leather cord, currently rested in Gunnar's pack; he wasn't going to wear it like a pendant until they got on the road. "At least until we get there."

"Like I said…"

"Well, there's the plan. Get some of those layers of dirt off you before bedtime."


	7. You're Getting to Be a Habit with Me

Gunnar got three chapters into the "scandalous look at sordid lives behind the scenes of Hollywood's glitz" (according to the book's cover) before Boone was finished. No actual names were used, but Benny had probably liked the book for its steamy descriptions, assuming he'd ever read this. He shrugged off the robe, which got too warm over the royal blue pajamas he'd taken from the wardrobe, returned to the book, and it took him a moment to realize Boone had said something from the bathroom. "What?"

"I said, don't laugh."

Don't laugh? Gunnar looked up from the book as the bathroom door opened. 

Boone hadn't shaved his head in a while, and his black hair was now barely long enough to comb. He'd left off his shades, and shaved, and now wore a short-sleeved red button-down shirt and brown trousers. 

He looked completely different.

Gunnar swallowed. "You look great," he said. 

Boone ghosted a smile. "It's the only ones that fit," he said.

"They, they look good on you," Gunnar said, sitting up. "You look really good."

Boone shrugged, a little self-conscious. 

"I wish we had a camera, to take a picture," Gunnar said, looking Boone up and down. "I should get dressed up too and we could go for a night on the town. I'm kidding," he added. 

"Do I look like a Vault dweller?" Boone asked, still smiling.

"I… I don't know about that. But you don't look like a Wastelander, that for sure. You look… See, get all cleaned up and look at you," Gunnar said. What a day, indeed. "You… don't have to sleep on the couch," he said. "I mean, you can if you want to, but — "

"Gunn."

Gunnar shut up. Boone looked about as nervous as Gunnar had ever seen him.

"Can we kill the lights?"

"Sure. It's, it's time for bed anyway. Right?" Gunnar got up to flip the switches, leaving the room lit only by the bathroom and and the glowing, happy faceplate of Yes Man looking in from his room.

"Yes Man?" Gunnar called. "Go… guard the secret exit in the back. Okay? And don't disturb me unless someone actually comes toward you."

"Roger-dodger!"

Boone pulled the bathroom door almost closed, so only a sliver of light came into the bedroom. Both of them stood awkwardly for a moment.

"This is kinda silly, isn't it?" Gunnar said with a laugh. "We're both adults. We've… slept together. A few times."

"Yeah." Boone rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing weird about it."

Another moment of silence.

"We don't have to… y'know," Gunnar said.

"Fine by me." Boone sounded relieved.

They both got into the bed, and Gunnar moved right up to Boone, who put an arm around him. "See?" Gunnar said. "Nothing weird."

"No."

"Except this time it's an actual bed."

"It's nice."

"Yeah. And we don't have to worry about scorpions or geckos deciding we're dinner."

"I locked the main door," Boone said.

"Oh. Good." Gunnar settled himself against Boone. Warm and safe, he thought. 

That had been in his life before; someone to be with, to hold and be held… _Whoever goes with us has to accept this._ That included Boone, too. There was so much to be fixed in this world…

"Hey," he said softly. 

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're with me."

~ ~ ~

Boone woke with Gunnar spooned behind him.

They were about the same height, so Gunn could do this where Carla couldn't; but Boone hadn't expected it, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Still, it felt nice… good to have someone again. 

What world had Gunn come from? What crazy world that had special clothes for sleeping in, where Latin wasn't the language of the enemy? Everyone knew those Vaults were weird, sometimes deadly dangerous for normal people. Gunn was weird, sure, but not dangerous. At least, not until he was threatened.

Gunn hugged him closer, sighed in his sleep. If this was all it took, Boone could live with it.

He'd been right about that doctor, Boone thought, as he drowsed back to sleep. He'd been bad news. Probably would've tried to get into Gunn's pants if Boone hadn't — 

He woke up again as he felt sleepy kisses on the back of his neck. At first he confused who it was, then remembered, just as Gunn mumbled something. Boone couldn't catch the words, but they had the right cadence for _I love you._

_What do you know about love?_

Boone put his hand over Gunnar's, where it rested on Boone's chest. Gunn probably wasn't awake. Probably wouldn't hear him even if he said anything. Saying something made it real. 

He didn't say anything.

It was really nice to not get up right away. Also, Boone hadn't needed proof, but Gunn was a cuddler. Eventually it might get clingy, but right now it felt fine. Whoever Gunn had had before, Boone thought, they must be dead or gone, because they wouldn't give this up. Not if they loved him. Naturally helpful, downright affectionate — Boone wouldn't have believed it himself. 

But if that person _was_ alive and looking, there would be a problem in future. 

_That's the future,_ Boone thought. Not even tomorrow; they had other, concrete things to worry about right now. 

"Time to get up," Boone sighed.

"Don't wanna." Gunnar imitated a teenager's whine.

Boone chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"Me too," Gunnar sighed, and stretched. "I feel better today. I didn't dream."

Boone realized he hadn't, either. All the better. "We have to save the world."

"I know. Hey." Gunnar raised himself on one elbow. "You said 'we'."

"Yeah."

"Good." Gunnar leaned forward and kissed him.

Once started, it was hard to stop kissing; as if everything building up was finally getting a chance to express itself. That need to be close, the intensity of feeling, and how good it all felt; and they felt alive with it.

At last they broke the kiss, and Gunnar rested his forehead against Boone's for a moment, eyes closed. "Craig," he whispered, stroking Boone's cheek with his thumb. 

"Yeah?"

Gunnar opened his eyes, and the intercom buzzed, making them both jump.

"Gonna shoot that thing," Boone growled.

"Not yet." Gunnar untangled himself from the bedcovers.

"Don't answer it!"

It buzzed again. "I have to or else it'll keep going." Gunnar pressed the 'talk' button. "Mr. Volk's Suite."

Boone lay back and put an arm over his eyes. 

"Good morning, Mr. Volk," came the scratchy intercom voice. It was impossible to tell if it was Swank or someone else. "Will you be checking out today?"

Boone growled something unpleasant.

"Is there some kind of a problem?" Gunnar asked. "This suite is mine."

"Yeah, ba — yes, sir, but you've got visitors waiting to speak with you."

"Oh. I'll be down shortly, no need to send anyone up to the suite. And tell the staff it's off limits from now on."

"Yes, Mr. Volk."


	8. (The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance

Boone glowered all the way down the elevator.

"Look, we had to get up anyway," Gunnar said. They'd left the pre-war clothes in the suite and were now armed and armored again. 

Boone muttered something Gunnar didn't catch and didn't ask him to repeat.

Gunnar met with Swank at the front desk. "How many visitors do I have?"

"Two so far. One of Mr. House's Securitrons, and a Follower."

Gunnar's stomach rumbled. "D'you serve breakfast here?"

"We… can," Swank said. 

"Okay, set up a table for three chairs and bring two breakfasts, one for me and one for my," he looked back at Boone, "associate. We'll talk to the robot first."

~ ~ ~

It was Victor again. "Hello there, Pardner!" Naturally he couldn't sit in the chair, but stood before the table.

"Hi, Victor. What's the news from the Lucky 38 this morning?" Gunnar was acutely aware of any potential audience in this restaurant, even as empty as it was. Most gamblers probably weren't awake yet.

"Mr. House has ordered me to comp you the Presidential Suite at the Lucky 38! You and your friend can stay there as much as you like, and enjoy all the amenities we have to offer. A'course, you're the only one who can talk to Mr. House."

"Of course." That was good news for the Tops staff to hear and spread through the gossip mill. Let everyone know Gunnar had Mr. House's ear and approval. "We'll be back later to check it out."

"You got it, Pardner!" Victor saluted and rolled off.

"I don't trust it," Boone said, keeping his voice down.

"I don't either, but it's good to know we have options. I think House wants to know where I am and keep me safe, at least until the chip comes home."

They paused while fresh omelettes and chicken-fried meat were delivered. "I wonder what the food's like at the Lucky 38," Gunnar said.

"From what you said, nobody's been over there to cook or eat anything for years."

"Mm." Gunnar flagged down one of the waitstaff. "Please invite my other visitor to join me."

Emily Ortal of the Followers of the Apocalypse sat politely at the table while Gunnar and Boone ate. "You're the courier who caused quite a commotion here recently," she said, half stating, half asking.

"That's right." There was wine again offered with the meal, and again Gunnar and Boone didn't touch it.

"And you've actually been inside the Lucky 38?"

"Just last night." Gunnar played it casual. "Might go back this afternoon to discuss things with Mr. House. Why?"

"We of the Followers are very interested in how Mr. House has stayed alive all these years," she said.

Gunnar paused only a moment in mopping up his plate with a piece of soft tortilla. All these years? How long had Mr. House been running the Strip? A lifetime? More? "Okay?" he said.

"Of course, no one is allowed inside the Lucky 38, so no one knows what's going on. Well, except for you."

Aha. There it was. "And you want my help finding out this information." Because of course they would.

"Right. We just want to find out what sort of technology Mr. House has used to stay alive for all these years. It could be of great benefit to the people we try to help, many of whom suffer from hard to diagnose illnesses." She adjusted her glasses on her nose. 

"Sure."

Boone shot Gunnar a sharp look.

"Really?" Emily said, her voice full of hope. "I wasn't expecting you to agree so easily."

"Me either," Boone said. Gunnar kicked him under the table. Boone either didn't notice or didn't show it.

"Here, take this packet sniffer." Emily handed Gunnar a small device. "It will allow us to intercept data on Mr. House's network. You might have to manually remove the encryption from his data network, but hopefully you won't have too much trouble. Good luck!"

"Thanks. How'd you get into the Strip?" Gunnar asked. It had taken him a lot of money to pass the credit check.

"This is important enough to the Followers that we scraped together the caps required for the credit check. And I'm staying at Vault 21, which is pretty cheap. For the Strip, anyway." She stood. "You'll be helping a great many people if you do this."

"Of course. That's what I do." Gunnar smiled. Boone tried not to roll his eyes.

~ ~ ~

"That's the guy who chased Benny out of the Tops and took over."

Gunnar could hear the whispers from passersby. "You were there too," he said to Boone.

"You're the one invited into the Lucky 38. Not me."

The general opinion seemed to be that Gunnar was now a confirmed Dangerous Person and worthy of respect. 

"I just worry it'll be a Liberty Valance kind of thing. D'you know that story? The man known as the best gunfighter is constantly tested by every young punk who wants to claim the title.”

“So you don’t want to be known as the best?”

“I don’t want to deal with a nonstop parade of challengers who want to kill me.”


	9. My Dreams are Getting Better All the Time

Diary:

_Been v busy. Have to write everything up before bed._

_Bugged Mr House terminal. He shot it down but FOTA got enough info to know they couldn't use his tech. We tried. Also talked w/the programmer who worked on Yes Man. Benny ripped her off too._

_Haven't had a chance to look at new suite at 38 yet, maybe later?_

_\- Still need haircut_

_Arranged a trade between Garrett siblings @ Atomic Wrangler & FOTA. FOTA helps w/stills etc and Garretts provide pure alcohol and some chems. Neither side totally happy. FOTA doesn't like Garretts still selling booze/chems and Garretts don't want FOTA curing customers. Best I could do. Politics is art of the possible (someone said this but don't remember who)_

_Got some new books & magazines. Paid a kid to run them to the Tops to hold for me._

_Garretts gave me free bottle of whiskey, apparently for having big brass balls to take on Benny's goons and walk away. Boone was there too (@ Benny) but nobody seems to acknowledge that and he doesn't bring it up._

_Also helped w/some addicts on behalf of FOTA. Got them some meds and support, helped them to the Fort as well. (the old mormon fort) Then had a talk with their dealer. Should be smooth sailing in that part of town from then on._

_Should note it was just a talk. No hidden meaning there._

_Found the invitation to talk w/the NCR ambassador. Forgot about that. So went to see him. Got some background on the Hoover Dam problem. Going to be rough getting this sorted out. Maybe I get to be the person everyone fears and hates instead of Mr House, haha. Not funny actually because I really just want to make things better. Would be great if people would work together instead of greed etc. blah blah._

_So Ambassador Crocker wants me to talk to the Boomers, which I need to do anyway, so lots of doubling up and I still have to get on the road for the chip. Holy cow am I busy. Got some good food & good rest at the Tops tho, feel like a new man._

_Also Boone looks good in actual clothes.  
\- Find more civilian clothes for hi_

_Argh pencil finally gave out, got another one. And FOTA asked me to come visit. Being popular has its down sides._

~ ~ ~

Gunn and the Followers administrator, Julie Farkas, were talking about the medical supplies issue and Gunnar's attempts to bring more into Freeside. Boone sympathized, but the fact was that gambling, drugs and booze were always going to ruin lives. Some people were less equipped to deal with vice than others, and Vegas was a magnet for all of them.

They needed to ask the Followers if anyone here knew how to use a weapon and was willing to walk into Caesar's camp and possibly die. Boone hoped Gunn would get around to it soon; they really needed to — 

"Also, I would like to extend an invitation to join the Followers of the Apocalypse."

Boone was suddenly very attentive. Gunn looked like Farkas had proposed the marriage he'd been waiting for.

"Our aim is to gradually shape a better, brighter future for the wasteland."

No wonder all the Followers were here. Boone should've realized something was up as soon as there was a crowd.

"We seek the heal the planet through efforts not unlike the medicine and education we offer here in the Old Mormon Fort. All we ask is members and those seeking aid do their best to help those in need when the opportunity arises."

And now everyone was watching, and there was no way Boone could do anything except smile and pretend this was the greatest thing ever.

"Yes! Of course! Yes, I'll join!" Gunn shook Farkas' hand. "This is such an honor. Thank you."

"Excellent! The Followers' mission will be better served with someone like yourself traveling around the Mojave."

At least they wouldn't be trapped here in Freeside, Boone thought. 

"As a representative of the Followers, I present you with your very own lab coat. Wear it well, and may it aid our cause."

Everyone clapped. Boone made a few token claps and tried not to scowl. Okay, the Followers weren't awful, but — 

But Gunn was so happy about the whole thing. Practically had tears in his eyes. He'd wanted to join them, believed in their cause, the works. Boone would be happy for him, if not happy about the situation.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
This is the happiest day of my new life!  
_   
~ ~ ~

Boone stood on the sidelines until Gunnar finished being overjoyed at joining the Followers. He was happy for Gunnar, true, mostly because Gunn was so damn happy about it. But they needed to get going. 

At last Gunn finished and returned to Boone. "This is great," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "I've wanted this since I first came here."

"Really?" Of course he would have. The opportunity to help people nonstop with not much chance of reward? Yes, Gunn was drawn to them like cazadors to blood.

"Yeah. This is, this is amazing." Gunnar suddenly threw his arms around Boone, who looked quickly to see if anyone noticed before awkwardly patting him on the back.

Gunnar let go. "Okay, we need to get packed. The Followers are sending someone with us, sort of a mentor for me and to keep an eye on things and, y'know, help out while we go to the Fort."

"Okay." They'd said they needed someone else, and Gunn had wanted one of the Followers along anyway, so that all made sense. "We're already packed. We can leave at any time."


	10. Mister Sandman

The Follower going with them was not one of the armed guards, which Boone had expected. Arcade Gannon was a spectacled, barely armed and unarmored blond in a lab coat. 

"So you're the courier who made such a mess at the Tops," Arcade said after the introductions were made. "Not what I expected, from what the rumor mill passed along."

"I hear that a lot," Gunnar said. "Shall we? It's a long way to Cottonwood Cove."

~ ~ ~

They'd make a side trip to Novac, Boone figured; it was on the way and they could see what stuff Arcade could use out of Gunnar's accumulated stash. In the meantime, he kept an eye out for any hostile bugs or potential assassin squads; Caesar might want to see them, but any hitmen in the field might not have heard.

And Gunnar tried to chat up Arcade, so Boone got to hear that, too.

~ ~ ~

"No, really, I'm interested in hearing about you. Don't put yourself down."

"Oh, all right," Arcade fake-sighed. "I'm thirty-ish. Well… late thirties. I was born… west of here. I was an only child and spent most of my time with my mother."

Gunnar nodded. He really was interested. After all, they'd be traveling together for some time.

"My father died when I was young and I never got over it. Oh… and I like medicine and reading books about failed Pre-War socioeconomic policies."

"Huh. Okay."

"Right now, I'm sure you're asking yourself, 'Why hasn't some lucky man scooped this bachelor off his feet?' Like I said, I'm boring."

Gunnar looked directly at Arcade. "You're… was it suggested you come along with us because — ?"

"Maybe I just wanted to do some field research for a change. You can only learn so much in a lab tent."

"I know, after a while you have to — you — " The memory had blinked into existence like a single mote before disappearing again. Something about research — something about — 

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, trying to remember something and I can't. I'm sure it'll come back to me." Easier to say than to believe. "So you're a researcher? What kind of research?"

"Oh, you know. Finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries. Stimpacks out of barrel cacti and other fantastic improbabilities. As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it's quite noble in its aims."

"No, no, it's not a waste of time at all!" Gunnar protested. "I think that's great! I've been scavenging already through so many of the ruins and I'm amazed anything's even left."

"Indeed." Now it was Arcade's turn to nod in agreement. "For the past hundred years or so, the Followers have managed to get by using salvaged medical supplies from the Old World. But the side effect of medical success is that more people live longer. Funny how that works."

"But…"

"But eventually, we'll run out of hospitals to loot. We need new ways to produce those supplies. Or maybe old ways, if this research goes anywhere."

"I would've hoped that things could be rebuilt in two hundred years. Not still devastated." Gunnar noted Boone going off to one side, either to check something out or to shoot something to eat later. 

Arcade made a short, humorless laugh. "Where have you been? There isn't any infrastructure to make the tools to make the tools to make the items. It stretches that far back. After things crashed initially, how could anything be built? And after a generation, nobody would remember how to even work the machines."

"And in the meantime, people still need medical treatment," Gunnar said. "Especially with the war and all the fighting." Boone hadn't shot anything and now changed course to rejoin them. 

"There are plenty of ways to die out here, and most of them, surprisingly, don't have anything to do with war. Just common human fragility."

"Tell me about it," Gunnar muttered. "We've come close a couple of times, Boone and I."

"Doesn't say much, does he?"

"He's all right when he gets to know you. I do most of the talking anyway."

"So I noticed." Arcade arched an eyebrow, and Gunnar laughed.

~ ~ ~

They spent the night at Novac. Gunnar offered the couch to Arcade. "I wish the stove worked, but the hot plate does, so we can warm something up for dinner."

Boone settled in to check over all the weapons and sort through the various energy cells for Arcade's laser weapon. Neither he nor Gunnar knew anything about energy weapons, so Boone picked out all the charged cells of any type and packed them for Arcade.

Arcade himself reviewed the various medical supplies Gunnar had. "You pick up everything not nailed down, don't you?"

"And use a crowbar for whatever is nailed down," Gunnar quipped. "Stew's almost done."

"There's collecting and there's hoarding. Some of this could get sent back to our Fort."

"Okay."

"If we didn't save it, we wouldn't have it here now," Boone pointed out. "Besides, you're a doctor."

"I'm a researcher."

Gunnar froze.

_But you're a doctor, right?_

_Not a medical doctor —_

"Hey! Gunn!"

Gunnar snapped back to reality, not knowing how long he'd been frozen in almost-memory, but now he could smell the stew beginning to scorch on the bottom. "Yeah, I've got it," he said quickly.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Arcade asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Food's ready." Gunnar dished out three bowls of stew. "Here you go." He looked at Boone. "I'm fine."

Boone gave him a careful look, took the bowl, and then returned to his conversation with Arcade. "So you can't actually render medical assistance? You just look at stuff in a lab?"

"Not all Followers are 'people persons'," Arcade said, with almost-concealed impatience. "Besides, someone needs to do research. Julie kept me in the back and I had no problem with that. Out of sight, out of mind." He stirred the stew with a metal spork Gunnar had salvaged from somewhere. "There are worse things one can be, though I do admit, it's a bit boring."

"It isn't," Gunnar said quietly.

"And though it has a noble goal, I don't think my research will yield much fruit. It's hard to get very far when you're the only one working on it."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic." Gunnar scooped up the bits of rat meat from his bowl.

"I'm enthusiastic about helping people, but nihil novi sub sole."

Boone stiffened at the Latin words. Gunnar half-shrugged. "I hear you. People don't change."

Arcade looked at Gunnar curiously.

"Where'd you learn that?" Boone asked, looking hard at Arcade.

"Not from the Legion, if that's what you're getting at. Books. Sheet music. Gladiator movie holotapes. Bits and pieces here and there. The Followers have extensive libraries, but we all draw water from the same old well. Even Caesar."

"Because he's copying the old Roman ways," Gunnar said. "He didn't originate them."

"Caesar can cite Cato to suit his purpose. Many people have spoken Latin. Some of them were quite pleasant. It's unfortunate that the language is now associated with the gentlemen across the river."

Boone looked from one to the other. 

"What do you know about Caesar?" Gunnar asked. "Since that's who we're going to meet."

Arcade paused and and sighed before responding. "I don't know anything that the others couldn't tell you. Caesar was one of the Followers. Before my time, of course. He wanted to rebuild the new world in the image of the old. A sad story of good intentions gone bad. In that regard, he's hardly unique. If you set aside his leadership capabilities, extensive knowledge, and ruthless cunning, he's just another jerk who steps on people to get his way."

"He was a Follower? But — " Sadly, Gunnar could see that. Learn from history, use those lessons, and without any checks to his power… "Is that why you — "

"Where did _you_ learn Latin?" Arcade interrupted.

"I… don't know." Gunnar had wolfed down his food and now set aside the bowl. "I'm sure you heard Benny shot me in the head."

"You look uninjured from here."

"No, this was before." Gunnar tried to count back the weeks in his head. "Weeks ago. I survived, barely, and it took me this long to find Benny and face him. But I don't remember anything from before I woke up in Goodsprings after I died."

"Died?" Arcade's eyebrow lifted again.

"As far as I can tell, yes, I died. If you count that I don't remember anything from before Doc Mitchell brought me back, definitely, I died. I don't remember my past at all. Boone thinks I'm a Vault dweller," Gunnar said, nodding toward Boone. "I don't know. I wish I did. Sometimes I can't remember words for things. And sometimes I almost remember bits of my past, but not quite. It's like — " He tried to think of how to express it. "Like you see someone you think you used to know, and when you catch up to them, they're not there, so you can't even tell if you imagined the whole thing."

"So when you stare like that, you're trying to remember?"

"Yes."

"That's a relief. I thought you were having seizures."

"What? No!" Gunnar said, indignant. "That's Caesar — the old Caesar, I mean —" He pressed his hand to the side of his head, below where it hurt, because if he touched where it hurt he might pass out. 

"Do you get headaches often?" Arcade sounded like a researcher, not a doctor. Not a people person, right.

"No, just when I try to remember, or sometimes when — look, I'm fine, okay? A lot has happened lately. It'd give anyone headaches." 

"If you go before Caesar you can't afford to show weakness," Arcade said. "The Legion values strength and hardiness. If you appear to go into a trance —"

"I get it. I'll be fine. Traveling will be good for me, get me away from politics for a while." But Arcade had a point, and a good one. Gunnar couldn't afford to get lost in his own mind when among the Legion. 

Boone snorted.

"What?" Gunnar snapped.

"You're going to that bastard's camp to drink soda and exchange recipes?" Boone said. "This is all politics now, Gunn."

~ ~ ~

"How do you want to handle tonight?" Gunnar had asked Boone to help with the cleanup down at the water pump. Arcade was still more of a guest, so Gunnar didn't feel comfortable asking him to wash the dishes yet (Boone had been fine with that idea but let Gunnar have his way). 

"What d'you mean?" Using good water to clean up after meals. Unbelievable. But Gunn was weird about water and seemed to think you could use it all the time for everything.

"Arcade's getting the couch. I didn't know if…"

"You don't want me in bed with you now?"

"No, no, that's not it at all! Just… I know you're not really comfortable with people knowing, though Arcade — "

"Gunn, we're in bed together. You said it yourself, nothing weird about it. And we don't have a lot of other choices. I'm not moving out because this uppity _doctor_ is with us now."

Realization of some kind came over Gunn's face. "Oh. I see. I don't think Arcade's someone we have to worry about, Boone."

Boone grunted and twisted the valve tight on the pump. Whoever next tried to get water had better be strong. 

"Boone. We're together. You and me. Going to save the world, or at least this part of it. Okay?"

"Sure. Let's get some sleep."

~ ~ ~

He faced the only path between all the people he'd killed. There were too many, far too many, shot and in pieces and falling apart, flies buzzing and maggots doing their work. 

_Why don't you heal them? Oh, that's right; you can't. But you can kill._

There was no smell, which wasn't strange at all, but there was plenty to see and hear, the groans of cries of the dying, the fear and despair in the remaining eyes turned upon him.

 _You didn't have to kill me._

That was true only of a few. But those few still existed. He hadn't had to kill that idiot at Helios. That was just because — 

Someone pushed him forward. He had to run the gauntlet. The dead would get their revenge now. They were armed and ready, and the noise changed to yells of triumph and anger.

_Run, coward!_

If he made it to the end he could be free, if he stopped he'd be killed, but the Chairman appeared, holding the bloody billiard ball, and Gunnar backed up into the clawing hands — 

~ ~ ~

"Gunn. Gunn, it's okay. You're safe."

No he wasn't. He'd never be safe. Gunnar curled into a ball and clutched at his head. He felt Boone behind him, holding him, trying to protect him from the vengeful dead. Boone couldn't save him from them. 

"Shh. I'm here. It's okay."

~ ~ ~

"Rough night?"

Gunnar looked sideways at Arcade. They'd all slept in the same room, Arcade probably had noticed the nightmare. "Yeah. Didn't sleep well."

"Perhaps it's good you don't drink. That wouldn't help at all."

"I suppose not." Gunnar had found an old thermos and put some of that weird fake coffee in it. What he wouldn't do for an old jar of instant coffee, assuming it hadn't turned to mold by now. Vacuum sealed, that's what he needed to find. A big stash of vacuum sealed food and instant coffee. The stuff in the thermos was only warm by now and he could drink it through the built-in straw.

"The Legion bans alcohol and drugs. Keep the troops' minds sharp, or at least that's the theory. Caesar ought to like that about you."

"It makes him sick," Boone pointed out. “Gunn, if he drinks.”

Gunnar didn't let it get to him. Boone did love making sure everyone knew that, didn't he. "Boone's right. It's not necessarily a personal choice. I've tried a couple of times and it doesn't end well."

"Then you can't be easily poisoned through drink. Though Caesar wouldn't offer you a poisoned cup of wine anyway."

"I suppose not. If the Legion wins at the dam, Vegas is doomed, isn't it? Or at least the vice part."

"I'm sure of it. Vegas is a pit of vice and depravity, or so everyone says."

"Sometimes, it is." Boone stayed close as they walked. 

"So what's the plan when we get there?" Arcade asked.

"Caesar wants to meet with me, and as far as I know Benny was heading there. I just have to hope Caesar hasn't found the chip."

"What chip?"

Oh, damn. "It's a special chip I'm looking for. Benny took off with it."

"Wait, this is Benny, head of the Chairmen? The one who took off from the Tops? That Benny?"

"That's him. He's the one who shot me in the head and left me to die."

"And took this chip of yours?"

"Yeah."

"What does it do?"

"I'll let you know when I get it back."

Arcade digested that for a moment. "And he took it to Caesar?"

"I don't think that was his goal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who reads, comments, kudos, and recs this work! I appreciate all of it, believe me ^_^


	11. Cruising Down the River

Gunnar, Boone and Arcade stood at the edge of Cottonwood Campground overlooking the cove below. Torches there lit the night, and a boat and some troops at the dock.

"What d'you think?" Gunnar asked. 

"There's no camp directly across the river," Boone said, looking through his scope. "Six at the dock and some on the boat."

Gunnar pulled out the pendant and looked at it. The Mark of Caesar. It protected him and presumably anyone who traveled with him, at least long enough to get in. "They're probably waiting for us."

"Shall we greet them?" Arcade said. "That's quite the welcome party."

Gunnar watched some more. "Boone? Do you see anything else?"

"Just counting heads. I might be able to reach some from here during the day. At night… too far."

"Boone. We don't want to kill them. Not yet."

~ ~ ~

At dawn the three left their shelter in one of the old campground bunkhouses. Fog shrouded the river canyon below and hid the ferry dock.

They took the road back up the hill until it joined with the road to the cove. Everything was quiet; not even birds broke the silence.

Then they came upon the crosses. 

Old telephone poles had been cut short and installed by the sides of the road. From them hung bodies, some twisted and mangled, all dead. 

Those were used for communication, Gunnar thought, and this is the message they now carry… 

They stopped, and Boone went to look at the first one. He came back to face Gunnar. "You still want to go talk to that bastard?" he snarled. 

Gunnar looked away from the crosses. 

"We should kill every one of them," Boone went on. "No quarter. No mercy, just like they give anyone they meet."

"Boone — "

"Do you really think he'll let us live, once he gets hold of you? I'll be damned if I let the Legion do that to me again!"

"Quiet!" Gunnar barked. The noise stirred up some blackbirds nearby, who flew away. "I have to get the chip. I can't do that if we get ourselves killed while storming a Legion camp!"

"It'll be a lot easier to find it if we burn the place down and sift the ashes!"

_One way to find a needle in a haystack_

"Boone." Gunnar's voice was cold. "You stay here."

Now Boone looked like he'd been hit between the eyes. "What?"

"You stay here. Go back to the campground on the hill. Wait for me there."

"He'll kill you!"

"Craig!" Gunnar snapped, and got within inches of him. "Go back to the campground and stay put! Don't let them see you, and I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Boone stared at him.

"I'll just check out this interesting pile of rocks," Arcade said.

"Craig," Gunnar said, in his usual voice. "I'll be okay. I promise."

"No." Boone shook his head. "You can't."

"Craig. Listen to me."

"No, you listen to me!" Boone grabbed Gunnar by the shoulder. "He's going to kill you. Don't trust him."

"I'll take Arcade with me."

"Like that'll help."

"I heard that," Arcade said.

"Craig." Gunnar took Boone's hand off his shoulder and held it. "I have to do this. I have to find that chip. I can scope out the camp while I'm there, talk to Caesar. Maybe he wants some kind of parlay and wants me to be the go-between."

"Gunn…" Boone pleaded.

"I promise you I'll come back."

"The Legion are evil."

"I know. But I need that chip, Craig. You're staying here."

Boone tightened his grip on Gunnar's hand. Then he took off his beret and pressed it into Gunnar's hands. "If you come back, and you're their prisoner, or you need help, wear this. I'll see it. I'll kill them."

"Okay. I'll do that." 

Gunnar took the beret, then had an idea. He rummaged in his pack, and handed Boone the current diary. "Keep this safe for me, okay? Until I come back. I don't want anyone finding it and maybe reading any notes I took."

Boone took it, but didn't take his eyes from Gunnar's. They held each other a long moment. At last Gunnar let go, not without reluctance, and cleared his throat. "Arcade?"

"Still here." Arcade had gone a few yards away. "So you're still going through with it?"

"Yeah. Boone's staying here. Let's go." Gunnar tucked the beret between his shirt and armor.

They walked unopposed through the Cottonwood Cove. The Legionaries watched them but made no move to attack. 

"Boone lost some people he loved," Gunnar said, trying not to speak too loudly. 

"To our hosts? How rude of them." Arcade did the same. "And now another loved one walks willingly into Hell itself. I don't know if I could take that kind of affection."

Gunnar didn't know how to answer that, so he said nothing. Arcade stopped when they walked out to the dock. A Legionary waited at the other end, by the boat.

“What's really going on? You’re leaving your — ‘friend’ behind in safety. Am I playing Virgil to your Dante? I'd like to assume that we're tiptoeing into the mouth of Hell out of academic curiosity, but I'm not so open-minded that I've lost my brains." Arcade crossed his arms and looked at Gunnar expectantly.

Was the man blind? Deaf? Had he missed Boone’s homicidal rage, or just thought it was an act they were somehow putting on? And there was the chip — but then, Arcade barely knew about that. Still. Gunnar didn't need both of his companions doing this. "Let's just listen to him, figure out what he's up to, and get out."

Arcade grudgingly gave in. "Short of canceling our imminent travel plans, that's the best thing you could have said. Just be careful."

"We will be."

~ ~ ~

The trip took about three hours. Gunnar tried to talk to Cursor Lucullus, their escort. "What'll happen when we arrive?"

"You'll be meeting face-to-face with the mighty Caesar himself, founder of the Legion, conqueror of eighty-six tribes. To my knowledge, this is the first time Caesar has ever summoned one of the Dissolute to see him. Not even tribal chieftains receive this honor."

"Have you ever seen him?"

"At a distance, yes. My duties are with the ferry."

Gunnar knew better than to make any snide comments about that. The Legion controlled all land east of the river, and apparently could cross it at will. The NCR could hardly stop them, it seemed. That was a depressing thought.

If the NCR, Followers, Vegas families, Khans, and who knew who else banded together, would they have enough combined forces to fight the Legion? Could they hope to put aside their grudges and hatreds?

_Greeks against Assyrians_

Gunnar blinked. Maybe nobody had noticed. Arcade was looking ahead, his back to Gunnar. 

Gunnar faced Lucullus again. "Who are the Dissolute?" Since he was probably one of them.

"All who are not Legion are 'Dissolute'. They live in squalor, unrestrained by morality, lacking moderation, temper, and self-control. Their very existence is a blight on the common good. Even worse are the Profligates, the subtype of Dissolute one finds this side of the river. They hold themselves to be civilized, when in fact they are corrupt and self-interested. The truth will be made clear to them soon enough."

So far, all Legion officers Gunnar had met were eloquent. Great, fanatical and well-spoken. Caesar had everything in hand, it looked like. Eighty-six tribes? "Who are some of the tribes under Caesar?" Gunnar asked.

"There are no more tribes under Caesar. Only Legion."

"I see." Make everyone part of the new nation and destroy old ties. "And what have I done to earn this honor?"

Lucullus' stone face changed slightly. "You'd know better than I would. But you must be remarkable, for Caesar to take such an interest."

No doubt Caesar had heard of what happened in Vegas; the man would be a fool not to have spies there, or at least people to run information and messages back. One of the Legion had given him this Mark pendant while in everyday clothes, after all. 

Gunnar fingered the pendant and stared out across the water, thinking.

~ ~ ~

They had to hand over their weapons and all chems and alcohol before entering the camp. Arcade kept his peace, thought it might be costing him from the look on his face.

The camp itself was…

Huge.

 _Oh dear God._ Gunnar couldn't see the far side of the camp. There were whole brahmin carcasses waiting to be butchered to feed the troops. There were troops, and more troops, and barracks, and an arena. Of course there would be an arena. People fought and died in that arena, Gunnar knew, and probably animals too. 

_Don't get distracted. Get an idea of troop numbers. They're well supplied here. Not like the NCR._

There were kids here. Little boys in pint-size Legionary uniforms, practicing with wooden swords and spears, and horsing around like boys do. It was almost cute, until they smacked a slave with their swords, forcing the unfortunate to cower and lick their boots.

"How long has the Legion existed?" Gunnar asked Arcade.

"Around thirty years."

"Oh, Christ." Long enough for kids to grow up and become Legionaries themselves, and the cycle repeats. How the hell could they fight something already so institutionalized?

~ ~ ~

Gunnar and Arcade made their way through the camp to the large, dark red tent. Blood red, Gunnar thought. Blood red with the golden bull, the ancient sign of strength and power in so many cultures. 

They walked to the entrance. Guards everywhere. Praetorians, Gunnar guessed, simply because Caesar would hardly be without them if he were recreating his idea of the Roman Empire. The guards stopped them before they could enter.

"Only you were given permission to talk to Great Caesar," the guard said. 

"I understand." Gunnar turned to Arcade. 

"Don't say it. I'll just wait for you here." 

"…Okay." Gunnar submitted to a cursory pat-down for weapons. Sure, they'd already turned in everything potentially dangerous, but Gunnar couldn't blame them for double-checking. It made sense. He braced himself and went into the tent.

It was well lit inside, and guards watched him closely. Gunnar didn't hesitate, just looked forward and walked with confidence to the man in the throne. Was he supposed to bow or kneel? It didn't matter, he wasn't going to. 

Caesar was older than most citizens of the Mojave that Gunnar had come across thus far; Gunnar pegged him at maybe mid-fifties, with white stubble on his shaven scalp. But he still looked strong and vigorous, both in body and mind. 

Caesar also looked irritated. But if he'd wanted to kill Gunnar, he'd had a lot of chances before now. 

"You're the courier who's caused so much trouble for my Legion, and yet you dare come before me," Caesar said. 

"I had to see the Mighty Caesar with my own eyes." Flattery was worth a try.

"Maybe I should have you struck blind so my face is the last sight you ever behold. Look… You do know why I wanted to meet you, right?" Caesar leaned forward in his throne. "A man nearly kills you, so you track him across the breadth of the Mojave. You arrive on the Strip and waltz into the Lucky 38 like someone left you a key under the doormat. You visit the Tops, and next thing you know, the head of the Chairmen is fleeing the Strip like a whimpering little pup?" He leaned back. "When you set your mind to something, you get results. I like that."

"Caesar is well informed," Gunnar said. As he would be. 

"I have eyes and ears everywhere. It behooves me not to invade the west blind and deaf. It hasn't been hard to track your progress. It's not as though you've been keeping a low profile."

That too, Gunnar thought. "I hope I've impressed mighty Caesar sufficiently." 

"I can detect bullshit very easily, Gunnar Volk who carries what he calls a 'gun for barns'. Remember that."

"Sir." Gunnar bowed his head slightly.

"Let's get down to business." 

There was a long pause that stretched longer as Caesar was lost in thought. Gunnar waited. The man had ultimate power here. If he wanted to sit and think, that was a little longer before whatever bad news arrived. Still, no excuse to daydream.

Now would be a bad time to space out — 

Gunnar stared at Caesar. Was that what he, Gunnar, looked like, when he had these… attempts to remember? He shifted his weight, unwilling to make any obvious moves or noise. Did Caesar suffer the same problem? 

_Get shot in the head, start over and create an empire. See? It can be done. You could do that too._

_Thanks so much,_ Gunnar answered his own thoughts. That wasn't helpful at all.

Caesar came to a conclusion, perhaps, or the end of the daydream. "To business, yes. Down the hill, at the west edge of camp, is an old building. It was here when the Fort was taken in 2277. Inside the building is a hatch, and inside that hatch are two steel doors that bear the sigil of the Lucky 38 casino. Now that same sigil is on the Platinum Chip Benny was carrying when we captured him. Isn't that interesting?"

 _Here it comes._ Gunnar mentally braced himself for the really bad news."Sir."

"Even more interesting, there's a slot about the same size as the Chip on the console that opens the hatch. So you know what I think? I think the Platinum Chip opens those doors — doors that can't be pried open or drilled open or blasted open. Because all that, I tried."

It wasn't a poker chip. It was a key. Probably filled with some kind of contact electronics and _don't space out, don't try to remember —_

"That's the chip I came for," Gunnar said, to fill the silence.

"Doing Mr. House's work for him, still? Are you really that dedicated to your contract, to keep chasing this thing despite all that's happened to you?"

"What does Caesar suggest?" Gunnar asked. Keep him talking. Focus.

"I'll give you this chip. I know he wants you to go in there. Benny tried it too, and failed."

"Benny is… ?"

"Still alive. He's quite nearby, in fact. I've told him that you'll decide his fate. It's appropriate, don't you think? A balance of the scales."

"I see." Benny hadn't been taking the chip to Caesar. He'd been trying to use it himself. Unless he, too, was somehow still working for Mr. House… _Focus, dammit!_

"Why give me the chip, if you know Mr. House wants me to have it?" Gunnar asked. His head was starting to hurt. Not now, not now!

"Because I want you to go into the bunker and destroy whatever you find there. Then I want you to come back here and tell me about it."

Because you hold my life in your hands, Gunnar thought. If I work for the House, I may die here; if I work for you, I'm siding with Hell. Which devil do I wish to serve? "What might I find in the bunker?"

Caesar shrugged. Gunnar expected him to steeple his fingers like a movie villain, but he didn't. "I don't know. Perhaps some great death machine, in which case I don't wish my own troops to die in vain. Your life is less valuable than theirs, at least for the moment. Serve me well and that may change."

 _Serve me well and you will be well served, isn't that the twist ending from some science fiction story? Stop it!_ Gunnar pressed his head below the scar, under pretext of brushing his hair back with his fingertips. "If it's some death machine, why doesn't Caesar take advantage of it? Use it to attack his enemies?"

Caesar leaned forward, angry. "You don't get it, do you? The weapons I wield are forged from blood, flesh, sinew, bone — mortal stuff. Fragile, even. And yet my Legion obeys me, even unto death. Why? Because they live to serve the greater good, and they know of no alternatives. House's machines, his technologies — what do they propose? The possibility of victory without sacrifice. No blood spilled, just… rivets."

Gunnar would rather sacrifice all the machines than any more lives, but their philosophies would never meet in the middle — and for once, Gunnar was glad of it, because if not for this quirk of Caesar's, the Legion would already be marching toward Vegas.

"That's not an idea to be put in circulation. If mankind's going to survive this moment in history, it needs warriors, not," Caesar spat, "gadgets."

"Not through speeches will be the great questions of the day decided," Gunnar slightly misquoted, "but by iron and blood."

Caesar smiled, surprise and appreciation tempered with recognition. "The Iron Chancellor," he said. "You know your history. Are you a Follower of the Apocalypse?"

"No, sir." Except he was one, now, but — "It's something I knew, once."


	12. Unto Caesar Let Us Render

"Hello, Benny."

The former leader of the Chairmen had seen better days. His checkered suit was now dingy brown in large patches, and Caesar's troops hadn't treated Benny too gently either. Kneeling, bound hand and foot, he still tried to summon his old bravado once more. "Hey, baby. I should've known you'd hunt me to the ends of the earth."

Gunnar crouched in front of the man so he could look Benny in the eye. "Third meeting's the charm, right? Caesar said I get to decide your fate."

"Yeah, I heard that too."

"Do you have a preference?"

"Yeah, to die in my sleep at a ripe old age after a marathon session of hey-hey with thirty sex-starved broads. You'll set that up?"

Gunnar smiled. Laughing in the face of death.

"Look," Benny continued, his voice lowered, "I ain't a harbor for illusions. I ain't expecting to get out of this shindig alive. That's why I'm trying to hand you my scheme, baby. It's called having a legacy."

Benny's scheme. Still up to old tricks, too. "How'd you get caught, Benny?"

"It took every Stealth Boy I had to cross the river at Cottonwood Cove. That was a close shave, riding a boat full of Legion boys. Once I was across, I changed into a uniform I swiped off a dead Legionary outside Nelson. Tried to sneak into the bunker, but that didn't work out. They found the Chip. I wasn't gonna tell them what it was used for, but… let's just say they were persuasive."

Gunnar shook his head. "You've got guts, Benny. I'll never say you didn't."

"I'm not likely to have them much longer. Look, Volk. Whether you kill me or they do, I figure this is it for ol' Benny."

"What do you want to tell me, Benny? There's got to be something."

"So you can write it down in your little book? You're going to make a big deal about that someday, aren't you? Okay, fine. Tell in your book how Benny became head of the Chairmen. Mr. House gave us the Tops, the suits and ties, even the damn wingtip shoes. Said we were the 'Chairmen' now. Our chief at the time, mountain of a guy named Bingo, wanted to stay nomadic. I disagreed, so he challenged me to the knife. He looked so surprised when I stuck that knife in his neck. Thought he was so tough, but he was so slow. That's how I made chief. It's how things were back then."

So Mr. House created the Chairmen to be his flunkies. Gunnar wondered if the other two, the Omertas and the White Gloves, were similarly created. "I think I've got the Chairmen under control." Or at least too scared to directly fight back.

"Set it up right, and the families will roll with your caper. You might have to do some convincing."

"Yeah, I'm getting better at that. So you decided you didn't want to listen to Mr. House anymore?"

"Volk, baby, listen." Benny licked his cracked lips. "Mr. House hides Vegas under his skirt when the bombs fall a thousand years ago, so it belongs to him? Forever? You buy that? Baby, every boss has a line to explain why he's special, why everyone gotta do what he says. Just figuring that out? Vegas gotta swing, baby, gotta have pizzazz. Respect where due, but that old man is square to the core."

"I gotta say, he rubs me the wrong way too," Gunnar said, mimicking Benny's slang. "But the Legion would reduce Vegas to rubble, as the city of vice."

"Nah, just spruce it up with a crucifixion here and there." Benny leaned forward. "The Legion is twisted, baby — original losers worshipping the king of creeps like he's some kind of god. They're worse than roaches. My advice? Put on your stomping shoes."

"That leaves the NCR."

Benny looked at Gunnar as though he'd said something profoundly stupid. "The only thing not bad about them is they ain't Legion. The NCR's the biggest gang of thieves in the Mojave, only difference is they pass laws to make their crimes legal before they commit them."

"That doesn't leave many choices." Gunnar sat back on his heels. "What if I don't choose any of them?"

"Now you're talking! That is the ring-a-ding move, baby. First base is whatever Mr. House would have you do. Follow orders, rig the game to his specifications. Then, when he ain't looking, you knock him out of the running and find a way to take control of those Securitrons of his. Go see Yes Man. I made it so that cat can't help but be helpful."

"That's your legacy, isn't it? That's what you wanted to do. Take over Vegas for yourself."

"Not just for me. Don't you see? Sure, Baldy wants you to go down in the bunker and destroy whatever Mr. House stashed there. You don't want to do that, baby. Whatever's down in that bunker is the key to the city called Vegas. Take down Mr. House and set Vegas free. You get the families together, you can keep everyone off your back. You set the rules. You dig?"

~ ~ ~

"What now?"

"I have the chip," Gunnar said, already walking west through the camp. "Arcade. Trust me, whatever happens."

They passed a pre-war truck — not truck, a, what was the word — not cannon, same principle, but — _They have field artillery. Useful for destroying buildings, but would they use them against people?_

"How enigmatic. Mysterious, even. Did you and Caesar have a nice chat?"

"Arcade, don't." Too many thoughts, too many things to keep track of, pulse throbbing in his ears like some relentless drum. "Benny's still alive and I have the chip. Trust me. I can't say any more right now."

Arcade's expression said a great deal, but he kept quiet, following Gunnar into the prewar building cordoned off and guarded by more Praetorians.

"Caesar has granted you permission to carry your weapons while you serve him," the Praetorian in charge said. He didn't seem to think much of Gunnar even so. "Do not fail him."

"Look at that," Gunnar heard another one mutter. "A Follower brave enough to leave Freeside." His eyes met Arcade's. It was time.

The platinum chip fit neatly into the round slot, and the metal doors in the floor slide back. Gunnar took the chip back, and walked down the stairs. Arcade followed, and the doors slid closed above them.

~ ~ ~

There was an elevator at the end of the dimly lit hall. It had one setting; no indication of how far down it might go. Gunnar pushed the button. The elevator lurched under their feet, then rode smoothly; but how far it went, Gunnar couldn't say.

In the hallway beyond, the Pipboy began its chattering alarm for radiation. Gunnar quietly cursed. Just what they needed. No wonder Caesar wanted him to come down here and not his own men. 

"Hope you've got some Radaway handy," Arcade said.

"Some. Let's hurry.”

But there was a computer bank, and Mr. House's digital portrait in green and black on the screen above. Gunnar approached. "Hello, Mr. House."

"I see that you reached your destination safely. Shall we get to work?"

Nice to see you, too. "What's the fastest way? This place is hot with rads."

"The Platinum Chip is a data-storage device. I need you to manually upload the data from the Chip to the facility's primary computer. There's a terminal at the other end of this facility. There's a complication. While I can broadcast to this screen, I can't control any of the facility's systems. That means I can't deactivate its security bots… most of which appear to be active, according to the status board I'm looking at."

So it wouldn't be fast after all. Gunnar scowled. "So I have to fight my way through?"

"Or disable them. You might be smart enough to do so without shooting yourself in the foot with your so-called 'barn gun'."

"What is this place?" Gunnar asked.

"I built it long before you were born. Think of it as a barracks. You'll understand soon enough."

For an army of robots, yes. Whoever controls the army controls the Mojave. "And what will your robots do?"

"They will do what an army does best — defend territory from invaders… and maintain order."

"And after getting through the security bots, upload the data that… starts the robots? Caesar wants me to destroy this place."

"Was that meant to be a shocking revelation?" Mr. House's voice was a mockery of concern. "Of course Caesar wants it destroyed — he's afraid of what the bunker might hold, and rightly so. But you're not going to do that. You're going to do the smart thing, and work for me."

Gunnar's fists clenched by his side. "We'll see what happens."

"I like to think you have enough sense to do the right thing. The rewards for doing so are immense… as are the punishments for not doing so."

_I won't tolerate such disrespect! Where's the belt —_

"Sir," Gunnar said, his voice oddly hard, despite his sudden grin. "I'd better get to work."

"Good boy. Run along now."

~ ~ ~ 

It turned out they didn't have to fight their way through. Gunnar was able to disable the turrets from one security station when they entered. That was a relief; the radiation was already making Gunnar sick, even with a dose of Radex, and he truly didn't know how accurate Arcade was with a weapon. He'd have to ask him after they got out of this…

It was somewhat anticlimactic to reach the correct console and insert the chip. This time the entire place shook — for a moment, even the earth seemed to shake — then stabilized. The sound reminded Gunnar of a factory; he couldn’t remember seeing one, but he knew what one should sound like. A great factory, making important things, with heavy machinery.

The robot army was waking, he thought. And what does Mr. House intend to do with them? 

What indeed?

~ ~ ~

"Your work here is done," the computerized image of Mr. House ‘said.’ "Return to the Lucky 38 so we can discuss next steps."

"You're welcome," Gunnar grumbled.

"You have a very bright future ahead of you, Mr. Volk. Thanks to your actions today, so does the rest of mankind."

~ ~ ~

They made it out. Gunnar had given Arcade the last of the Radex, but Gunnar himself was staggering at the end. The Praetorians sneered at his obvious, "dissolute" weakness and disarmed them both, again.

"If you're getting us killed after this, I'll never forgive you," Arcade muttered.

"You and Boone both." Gunnar chugged the only container of Radaway he had left, and shuddered. "Good gosh, this is awful." He resisted the urge to spit, and instead chased it with water. 

"And that's one less bottle of it in the world."

"I should tell you about this purgative recipe I picked up," Gunnar said. "After we get out of here."

~ ~ ~

"We felt the earth shake when you destroyed the great evil beneath us," Caesar announced, when Gunnar returned to him. "You've done well. There are rewards for doing as I command. Today, your reward is vengeance. You get to decide how Benny dies. Go to Benny, let him know what you've decided. My Praetorians will perform the execution…" He paused for effect, before continuing, "unless you want to perform it yourself."

"Great Caesar honors me." Gunnar felt he were outside of himself, watching what happened. He needed to get out of here, out of this camp, far, far away. "I will kill him myself."

"Very well. Though you can ask to crucify him, if you'd like."

"No, great Caesar. This man tried to kill me, twice. This needs to be done personally."

~ ~ ~

"Hello again, Benny."

"Hey, baby." If Benny weren't about to die, Gunnar would have told him where to stick that "baby" talk, but there was hardly a point to it now. "So what happened down there?"

"Hundreds of Securitrons," Gunnar murmured, "all of them upgraded now, thanks to the chip." Then, louder, "Mr. House's weapon, destroyed, of no more use to him or anyone else."

"So all this time the old man had an entire army on lay-away? Clever player." Benny shook his head in admiration. "Just imagine the look on Baldy's face when those Securitrons come pouring out on judgment day! I'd pay to have that bronzed!"

Then the look of triumph faded from his eyes. "So… all you gotta do now is talk to Yes Man, figure out how to set things in motion. Make Vegas a town I woulda been proud of, baby. Let it swing."

Gunnar didn't like the man, never had, but in this moment he also felt sorry for him. Benny had wanted to free his city, and Gunnar's survival had thrown everything into chaos. Benny was a murderous scumbag, and Gunnar couldn't even say he'd meant well, because he suspected Benny would've taken Mr. House's place, no matter what he claimed.

But still. He was a living, breathing person, helpless to defend himself at this moment.

"So what'll it be, Volk?" Benny asked, now serious.

Gunnar took a deep breath. "I've decided to kill you here and now."

"I see." Benny looked down, then back up. "Keep it simple, hey? Around here, it's one of the better options…"

"Yeah." No crucifixion. "Close your eyes, if you want."

"Nah, I'd… rather see it coming."

_I wouldn't._

"Do it, baby. Make it clean."

"Goodbye, Benny," Gunnar whispered.

~ ~ ~

"I'm sure you found Benny's demise pleasing," Caesar said, upon Gunnar's return. "The destruction of an enemy… there are few things more satisfying."

"Indeed, great Caesar." He was very far away now, all locked up in a Vault, but his body kept moving. "I thank you for this opportunity."

"It's a good attitude you have there. Let's press on, shall we?" Caesar relaxed in his seat. Gunnar could see past him into the next "room" of the tent, cut off mostly by fabric screens; some kind of computer or equipment back there. "As I was telling you before, I want Mr. House out of the picture. You have an interest in his death, too. If he knows that you destroyed his… gadgets beneath the Fort, he will strike back. You know where to find him. How he dies, I leave up to you."

"Thank you, great Caesar. If I might ask a question?"

"You may." Caesar could be gracious at the moment.

"That machine back there — what does it do?"

"It's called an Auto-Doc. As the name suggests, it's an automated physician — more or less. It can treat broken bones, cuts, punctures, scrapes. Sometimes I bestow its use upon someone I favor." Upon seeing Gunnar's expression, Caesar said, "Makes for a powerful gift, in a culture that forbids painkillers and is largely ignorant of medical science."

 _Hypocrite._ Silus had said something was wrong with Caesar. If Caesar suffered the same problem as Gunnar — or seizures, or, or whatever Arcade diagnosed them as — obviously the machine didn't cure those. "I see. Thank you, sir."

Caesar nodded in response. "The time is fast approaching when my Legion will assault the great dam and invade the west. Before that happens, I want Mr. House knocked out of the game, a quick one-two punch — with you doing the punching. I want Mr. House erased from the picture. Not just the man you killed, but what he left behind. His legacy."

There was that word again. "I'll eliminate Mr. House for you," Gunnar said.

"Good." Caesar stood, and his Praetorians came to attention. "I don't know what kind of security he has inside the Lucky 38, but if you can find a way of catching him off-guard, do so. Complete your mission, then return to me. Vale."

~ ~ ~

They were allowed to leave, weapons returned at the gate. Gunnar stared ahead. Put one foot in front of the other. Stoic. Roman. Gravitas-dignitas-something else, liberte-fraternite-egalite, everything is in threes. Caesar's dignity is in danger, Mister Volk!

"Get me out of here," he mumbled to Arcade, on their way to the dock. 

"We're almost out now."

"Arcade. Get me back to Boone. I might appear asleep on the boat. Let me sleep. But get me out as soon as we land."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar did appear to fall asleep, almost seeming to collapse in on himself as soon as he sat, while the boat was still rocking from their boarding. Arcade was thankful for the warning, or he’d have had to make the call on whether to try to rouse the man, to see if he required medical attention — which might have been dangerous on, say, _a boat full of Legion soldiers._

He’d warned the man not to space out, that it would be seen as a sign of weakness. Apparently he’d managed it, long enough to play whatever game he was playing with Caesar today, but if hiding his affliction had taken this much out of him, then Gunnar Volk must have far more serious medical issues than Julie or any of the Followers — than _anyone_ — had known.

And he’d followed this man — willingly, more or less — into the Legion stronghold. Why? What had his purpose even been there aside from standing outside Caesar’s tent? To drag Gunnar out if he’d been overcome by the radiation in that bunker? Arcade snorted, lost in thought. _Dragged_ would have been about right, and wouldn’t that have made a pretty picture for the Legionaries when they got aboveground. He certainly couldn’t have carried the man out, though he bet Gunnar’s soldier boy Boone would have done so without breaking a sweat.

That was a much prettier mental image, Arcade had to admit to himself, as long as one omitted the anti-medicine, sickness-means-weakness Legionaries from the picture. He wiped his glasses on the tail of his lab coat and pushed them back into place on the bridge of his nose.

What had been gained today? Arcade wondered as the sky turned orange with the setting sun and he kept an eye on Gunnar, who seemed a little pale but otherwise merely asleep. He’d have to wait to find out when Gunnar was able to tell them about it and that meant, Arcade thought wryly, the doctor would have to be patient.


	13. The Lord High Executioner's Song

All day, Boone watched and waited from the campground overlooking the cove. He lay where he wouldn't be silhouetted against the sky, rifle at the ready, watching. He knew it would be hours before Gunn returned, if at all. 

He should have gone with him.

He should have insisted.

And when they got there, killed every last Legionary until he was out of bullets and blood.

Or he should have kept Gunn back — but there wasn't a good way to do that, either, was there. Gunn was going to save the world even if it got him killed, and it didn't matter who was in his way.

The sun beat down, but it was late in the year and the breeze was cool. Boone had found an old stormchaser hat buried in his pack and put that on, to keep the sun off and because it felt weird without his beret on. 

He could kill every one of those Legion bastards down there right now. But if he did, the boat might go elsewhere, or not put in at all.

That Follower, Arcade — Boone hoped he knew which end of a gun to shoot. Energy weapons of all things, who the hell used those? How could light hurt anyone? Everything needed light to live, except maybe lurks or other cave monsters. But a light gun? Unlikely.

Some tiny little black ants scurried in the dust before him. He knew these; they couldn't hurt anyone. Just minding their business, never aware that something huge could squish them without even noticing them. Birds sang nearby. Gunn probably knew all their names.

The Legionaries below had dogs. One of them even played with his dog, laughing and roughhousing and probably calling it a good boy, then tossing it some food. Gunn would probably say this showed they were good inside. Boone knew better. Legionaries were evil, simple as that. 

It's why Gunn needed protection from the rest of this world that he insisted on venturing into. Walk into the jaws of Hell? Sure! Convince Caesar to be nice and stop making war? Why not! Hey, how about fixing up the Strip so it took care of orphans and widows, got rid of the hookers and drugs and made it a Real Nice Place? Let's try it!

And he might even manage it, too. Hell, he turned those Misfits into a unit; maybe he could talk at Caesar and President Kimball and Mr. House enough that they gave in just to make him stop.

At that moment, Boone would give anything to hear Gunn's prattle. It would mean he was safe.

What was Caesar's plan? Just lure him in? Torture and then crucifixion? Maybe bring Gunn back here to set up the cross, so everyone would know.

Because Boone couldn't imagine what possible reason Caesar had for wanting to talk to Gunn. Gunn had a good reason to go in there, to look for that fucking chip. The same thing that had gotten him killed once before. That thing was the death of him once already, and once was enough.

Not like Mr. House seemed to give a damn, either. Gunn was just a thing to be used and thrown away. 

No.

People were not _things._ That was the Legion way. 

What had this world ever done to deserve such people in it? And why the hell had Gunn ever come out of his Vault?

Boone noticed some increased activity down below. Sergeants putting them through drills for the afternoon. He watched them. A couple of thrown grenades… not from this distance, though.

The day crept on, the sun went to the west, and the shadows grew long. 

Gunn might not even be back today. Or tonight. Or ever.

Boone hadn't eaten since he'd taken up position here. When twilight came, he backed away from the edge and retrieved food and water. No fire, that went without saying. Torches blazed in the camp below, and the river reflected the firelight.

He didn't know what he'd do when he needed to sleep. He should've slept already, but he was too keyed up. Now he had to worry about staying awake all night. 

Coyotes yipped in the distance. They wouldn't come close to Cottonwood, not with people and dogs around.

Boone took up his position again, and dozed a little despite himself. He woke frequently, at any real or imagined sound from the river or the camp. At first he thought he'd imagined it when the boat finally did arrive.

It was full night now, no moon, the river of stars overhead matching the water below. Boone took up his spotting scope and searched the boat. The torches didn't make it easy, but he could see Legionaries tying the boat to the dock, then people disembarking — more Legionaries — where was Gunn — Arcade in that dingy white coat — there. Gunn was alive, and bareheaded. 

Boone kept watching. He wasn't a prisoner. So he didn't need rescuing. But he wasn't steady on his feet, either. Maybe that was just being on a boat. They weren't steady like good honest land. Or maybe the Legion had done something to him, in which case none of them would survive the night.

Gunn stumbled against Arcade, who shored him up, and then seemed to walk fine from then on. Head high, ignoring the Legionaries he passed. All well and good, but he still didn't look his usual self. No smiles, but that was to be expected. No, something else was wrong. But he'd come back alive and was let go. That was what mattered.

Boone got to his feet and collected his pack and rifle. Arcade and Gunn had to come up the road from the cove, and he could meet them at the fork in the road. If he got there fast enough he could cover them in case the Legion tried a double-cross, like "oh sure we'll let you go" and then ambush them as soon as they were outside the camp.

~ ~ ~

_keep walking keep walking not far now not far now keep walking keep_

He was very far away indeed. Maybe it was best if he didn't come back for a while. He would drown in blood, the blood of the murdered

_keep walking, to stop is death_

Boone swam into Gunnar's vision. Was he real? He felt real. Gunnar let himself fall into Boone's arms, and went away for a while.

~ ~ ~

"What did they do to him!" Boone hissed, picking Gunnar up in his arms.

"Nothing!" Arcade protested, equally alarmed. "Unless this is normal as part of his so-called memory lapses!"

"It isn't! Did they give him booze?" Boone turned and began the walk back up the hill. Ideally he'd get Gunnar to one of the old cabins for shelter and then see how bad off he was.

"Not that I'm aware. I'm not sure he's eaten, actually." Arcade had eaten while waiting outside Caesar's tent. 

"Goddammit, Arcade, you were supposed to watch over him!" Gunnar was too damn pale, even in the starlight.

"And how could I do that without the Legion suspecting something? Just how ill is he?" Arcade followed Boone up the hill.

"He hasn't eaten anything all day and you ask that?"

"Nobody gets that bad from one day without food! We've all gone without at some point. No, this is something else, _Boone._ This is because of those seizures of his, perhaps?"

Boone didn't answer, but kept walking.


	14. Nightmare/The Dreamtime

"Get the light."

Arcade switched on the little solar lantern, lighting up the corner of the cabin. Boone lay Gunnar down on the mattress there. "Would a stimpack help?" Boone asked.

"It might. Let me look at him. Get some food and water, too." Arcade knelt by the mattress.

Boone found the most rad-free food they had in their packs, and the bottles of pure water. Shouldn't have let him go, shouldn't have trusted Arcade — 

Arcade injected a stimpack into Gunnar's arm. "I don't know if it'll help, but it certainly can't hurt. No, this is something else. I need the truth, Boone. What's wrong with him?"

"He's from a Vault as far as I know. He got shot in the head and he can't remember anything from before he died."

"That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?" Arcade felt again for Gunnar's pulse.

"That's the way he described it. A robot dug him out of his grave and took him to a doctor." Boone set the food and water down. "Sometimes he tries to remember and he blanks out."

"Never like this?"

"Not from memories. This is like when — " Boone stilled.

"When what?"

"When we first went to the Tops," Boone said, "Benny sicced his thugs on us."

"Nothing like that happened at the Fort. Radsick, yes, but we took care of that."

Radsick and no food. Boone stared at Gunnar. "Gunn killed a man at the Tops."

"Nothing surprising about that. From the sound of it he's killed a lot of people." Arcade sat back. "He's not well, but not about to die."

"No, at the Tops — Gunn uses… guns, you know. Keeps them at a distance." Boone sat down by Gunnar's legs. "At the Tops he killed a man by beating him to death with a cue ball."

Arcade turned to face Boone. "And he was like this afterward?"

Boone nodded. "Like this. Not exactly. But he needed to… hide, I guess. So we did. Me and him."

Arcade looked back at Gunnar. "You think he killed someone? But I was with him in the bunker. Nobody else was there with us. The only times I weren't with him were when he had his audiences with Caesar."

"Audiences?"

"Caesar wanted to talk to him. Alone. Once before the bunker, he gave Gunnar the chip. Then afterwards he had to check in." Arcade took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "He said he might sleep on the boat, which he did."

"So twice, he was alone at Caesar's mercy."

"You want to accuse me of causing this? You were the one who couldn't come along and protect him because you couldn't control your homicidal impulses." 

"You were supposed to help him!" Boone yelled.

"If my company is unsatisfactory, I can return to Vegas," Arcade said coolly.

Boone glared at him as if he could kill him that way. "You're a doctor," he said at last, through gritted teeth. "He needs help. The Follower doctors said he was traumatized. Maybe that's what Caesar did to him."

Arcade looked back at the unconscious man on the mattress. "Traumatized. And you said he had to hide after he beat a man to death. Hide how, exactly?"

"We had to get away from everyone. Find a quiet place, all alone. Then I… we sat together a long time."

"Just sat?"

"Wipe that look off your face. I held him. Okay? He wasn't well."

"Which of course couldn't be done during the next several hours in the presence of the Legion's finest fanatics." Arcade sighed. "If that treatment worked before, then try it again."

"That's all you can say?"

"What do you expect? You know more of his medical history than I do, but neither of you thought to share it with me in case of emergency."

Boone swallowed. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know. If what you're saying is true, he's shut down because of something that happened while he was with Caesar, and this is the second time he's shut down."

"Not as bad as this, the first time."

"So it's getting worse." Arcade shook his head. "Do what you can for him." He stood. "And afterwards, if he can talk, I need to know exactly what happened, if I'm to form an effective treatment."

When Boone didn't move, Arcade crossed his arms. "Doctor's orders, soldier boy. Hold him until he's better. Does that help?"

~ ~ ~

"Come back, Gunn." 

Gunnar's body was alive, but Gunn himself wasn't there. What had Caesar done to him?

"Gunn, you have to come back. Tell me what happened. Then I'll kill him for what he did."

Gunn had kept going with him even though he, Boone, was cursed. Now the curse had struck again.

"Gunn. Wake up. Come back. You have to come back…" 

~ ~ ~

He didn't want to go back. But in the dark he slowly realized he was awake.

Someone held him. Boone, probably. Sleeping. Sounds of night birds or bats outside. They were inside something. Not a tent. Building. 

Gunnar didn't move. He didn't want to move, or feel, or hurt; no point to doing anything.

He was dully aware after an eternity that he had slept again, or maybe time had just passed in the dark. Now the dawn chorus sounded outside, and pale slivers of light showed through the cracks. 

~ ~ ~

They made him get up, and forced food and water on him, and asked him questions. Gunnar only gave in on the first two because in the end it was easier. But he didn't want to talk. Didn't want to think.

~ ~ ~

"I'm going to kill that bastard," Boone snarled.

Gunnar still lay on the mattress, where he hadn't moved since they'd finally gotten him to eat. Boone was ready to take on the entire Legion in revenge.

"That won't help," Arcade pointed out. "And it'll probably just get you killed. We have to get him home, or at least somewhere else. This is almost on top of a Legion camp, and it's only time before they find us here. We can't be sure that Mark of Caesar will protect us forever."

Boone didn't like it, but he had to admit Arcade was right. "All the way back to Vegas?" he said. "Or are there any Followers closer than that?"

"To take care of mental disturbances? Vegas." Arcade looked to Gunnar's still form. "And I think that's what this is. He doesn't seem physically hurt. "

~ ~ ~

Get up. Wear the pack. Walk.

He could do that.

~ ~ ~

They made poor time, because Gunnar walked slowly, even with a lightened pack. But they put distance between themselves and Cottonwood nonetheless.

Both Arcade and Boone talked to Gunnar, trying to draw him out. Arcade went on about books he'd read and whether the pre-war peoples had really believed some of those books. Boone pointed out the desert plants Gunnar had formerly homed in on, to gather fruit or nuts or other useful things; but Gunnar didn't even glance at them. 

When they stopped for a break, Gunnar sat and didn't move unless they goaded him to keep on.

"This is bad," Arcade said in the afternoon. "We have to consider the possibility that if he doesn't improve, whatever he's doing will just have to… not happen, so to speak."

"You mean, save the world?"

"Is that what he thinks he can do?"

"He did before this trip."

"I don't know that the world can be saved," Arcade said. "Perhaps we should focus on ourselves first."

~ ~ ~

Keep walking. Go north.

Gunnar ate when they made him, and lay down when it was night. Alcohol, he remembered. He'd had a blackout when he'd tried it. Not the beer. The harder stuff. Maybe it would really knock him out… But he didn't care enough to get up and find it. 

"Gunnar. Where are you from?"

He didn't know. Didn't they know that?

"What is aspirin?"

That one was harder. They didn't know?

"His eyes moved. I think he was thinking about that one."

"What Vault did you come from? Who were you with?"

Stop it. 

"What did Caesar say to you?"

No. 

"Did you talk to Benny?"

_Stop it!_

"Okay. No more questions. I've got you. Don't fight. Hold still." 

~ ~ ~

That night the dead came back to him, and he couldn't get the blood off himself. 

_Do it, baby. Make it clean._

The Helios murder clawed at him, leaving red stripes. So much blood. So much.

Someone screamed, and the screaming didn't stop. The dead swarmed around him and held him tightly in place. It was his turn. He'd only wanted to do right — only wanted to —

He fought, and they pressed in tighter so he couldn't move at all, Benny stood over him with the gun pointed at his head, and the screaming _wouldn't stop_ — 

"Gunn! Calm down! It's a nightmare. You're safe."

Gunnar fought the arms that held him, struggling to get away, but he couldn't, and at last he lay still, sobbing for breath. He didn't feel safe. He wasn't safe. He was a murderer covered in blood. He should have stayed dead. If he were dead he'd be with, with, the people he couldn't remember.

He heard voices, trying to soothe him, and he tried to curl up and hide but he couldn't, someone was in the way. 

~ ~ ~

"Sooner or later Mr. House is going to send that robot to check up on him," Boone said over breakfast.

"Can it find us? No, that's a silly question. He knew where we were going and the likely route back." Arcade poured the last of the desert coffee into his cup. "I'm more concerned about the Legion. They let us go, and they have spies and agents in this territory. If Caesar wants, he can find us. And Gunnar isn't in any shape to fight back."

"Mm."

"Mr. House isn't a nice man," Arcade said casually. "You'd think he'd take better care of his tools. They'd last longer."

Boone gave him a sharp look. "How do you know?"

"Down in the bunker, he spoke to Gunnar through the computer. Mr. House is an arrogant bastard who doesn't understand what makes people behave the way they do, based on how he treated Gunnar."

Boone considered. "Gunn wants to help. Just act helpless or in need and he'll fall over himself to help you."

"Exactly. House is going to kick him to the curb as soon as he's done with him, and he doesn't make a secret of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone reading this, your comments clear my skin and water my crops ^_^


	15. Chasing Shadows

"C'mon, Vault dweller. On your feet."

Gunnar blinked up at the voice. Voice was almost right, hair was right but wrong, glasses? Those were wrong.

"It's still me," Arcade said, hand extended. "You remember me, don't you? Handsome doctor and patron of hopeless causes?"

Gunnar frowned in confusion. "I thought —"

"Yes?"

It was gone, whatever it was. "Where's Boone?" he asked.

"Around." Checking to see if that was a Legion patrol behind them. "I'll tell him you asked about him. On your feet, now."

Arcade pulled Gunnar upright. "You've lost weight," he said, eyeing Gunnar critically. "But you haven't eaten well lately. Are you hungry?" Gunnar had already "eaten" in the sense that he'd taken a few mouthfuls at dawn.

"A little."

"Okay. Let's see what we have… We'll walk while we eat. Boone'll catch up."

"Where are we?" Gunnar still sounded dull and empty, but he was talking for the first time in days.

"Closing in on Novac. Soon we'll be back and you can stay in your own room again."

They heard the echo of rifle fire behind them. Gunnar stopped short, the handful of dried apples halfway to his mouth. "Boone —" 

"Told me to make sure you were well out of danger," Arcade said, taking Gunnar's arm. "He can take care of himself." 

More shots, different kinds. 

"No," Gunnar said hoarsely. "Gotta help him." 

"Gunnar. You've been the walking dead for a week. You're not in any shape to lift a pistol, let alone your big gun."

Arcade made Gunnar walk. They couldn't hope to run, if it came to it, but they could keep moving.

"Boone will be along shortly," Arcade said with confidence. "And glad to see you're back with us. He was worried about you. I was too, but not the same way. More clinically worried. It wouldn't look good if I let you die on my first field expedition." 

Arcade led the way to a hill where Gunnar could sit behind a rock formation, out of sight, and Arcade could take up a defensive position.

"Who's after us?" Gunnar asked. He felt so very, very tired now, and empty.

"We don't know. They've been following us for the past day. Boone set up some traps to try to slow them down and pick them off. With any luck, he did right and it worked. If not… I'll have to do what I can here."

"They'll see the reflection off your glasses." Gunnar leaned his head back against the rock. So tired. Yet he was awake. Had he been unconscious? What had happened?

Arcade said nothing for a moment, then: "Without my glasses I can hardly see when they're close enough for me to shoot."

"I thought… Followers weren't into fighting. 'S why you've got guards."

"Well, my dear new Follower-to-be, sometimes the best solution is to shoot someone in the head."

Gunnar jerked, wide-eyed, but Arcade was focused on the path behind them and didn't see.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," Arcade apologized, still watching. "That was untactful, wasn't it. Won't happen again."

They waited.

Gunnar felt hungry again. He looked in his pack, which was emptier than he was used to, and found some soda and some overripe prickly pear fruit. He grimaced but decided on the soda for the moment. It had calories, and now the emptiness inside him was at least partly hunger. 

"A week?" he asked, after drinking half the soda, then belched. Already, that soda wasn't sitting well in his stomach.

"Thanks for letting everyone know where we are," Arcade commented. "And yes. Good to see you among the living again, by the way."

"Did I die again?" Gunnar wouldn't be surprised. He felt bad enough.

"Not physically. When we get to Novac, might I suggest we purchase some binoculars? It would be nice if I could tell when Boone, or enemies, are coming toward us."

"Sure." Dead inside. Yes. That sounded right. Dead of heart and not wanting to continue, but the body does want to live. Gunnar rested his head against the rock, but didn't feel like sleeping. 

He rubbed at his cheek and was surprised to find several days of wiry stubble there. He must look as bad as he felt. Wait — Boone's beret — Gunnar reached into his armor and didn't find it. Of course. Boone had probably retrieved it as soon as they'd rejoined. Gunnar realized he didn't remember anything about the return from Fortification Hill.

"Is Boone okay? Are you?" Gunnar asked.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Arcade glanced back. "Because you were a walking catatonic, screaming with nightmares, unresponsive to someone you loved trying to reach you? We were just fine."

Gunnar huddled against the rock.

"And don't feel guilty about it. Boone already has that covered."

~ ~ ~

Boone was tired and the graze on his leg stung, but the assassins following them wouldn't be a problem any more. Gunnar really did pick up anything he could, and in his pack Boone had found three mines. It was worth the attempt to slow down their pursuers.

After the dust had settled and the bullet echoes died down, he'd investigated, but they weren't Legion. These were paid mercenaries. Someone else had taken a dislike to Gunnar Volk and decided to do something about him. Boone wondered who. Nothing on them could be identified, so it could have been any number of people rich enough to hire hitmen.

He'd looted anything of value and left them for the vultures and coyotes to find. Now he had to rejoin Arcade, and hope the doctor hadn't run into an ambush somewhere else. Gunn was dead inside, and Boone felt like he was only waiting for Gunn's pulse to stop; then it was on to killing Legion in revenge. 

Those bastards had done something to him. Boone didn't like to guess what, though he could suspect, and when Gunn suffered his terrors in the night, it was all too easy to think the worst.

It wore on all of them, and Boone didn't know if they could make it all the way back to Vegas. He passed one of the old wrecked cars by the side of the road. Gunn said those had gone faster than anyone nowadays could imagine, zipping down the roads, California to Vegas in only a few hours. Boone guessed it was true, if only because Gunn wasn't likely to lie about such things, but right now one of those would be useful.

He saw Arcade from far away — the man had no idea how to camouflage himself — and waved to show he was fine. At least Arcade had found a good vantage point to shoot from. No sign of Gunnar, but that was to be expected. He was probably curled up on the ground somewhere behind a rock.

Boone checked the sun. They could still make some time, even at Gunnar's slow pace, before nightfall. Then he looked back to the hill, and saw Gunnar. Standing, maybe unsteady, but actually looking at Boone, not staring at nothing.

Boone picked up his pace, as best his leg would allow. Had Gunn finally snapped out of it?

It looked like he had. He still looked half-dead, but that was an improvement, and when he fell into Boone's arms, it wasn't the same at all as when he'd come back from Cottonwood. He held Boone tight, and mumbled something, and Boone held him back and kissed him.

It was so good to have him back. So good to know he was alive. 

"Hey, how about a little sugar for Arcade?"

Boone couldn't help but laugh, just because he was so happy to see Gunnar back with them, but his laugh froze as Gunnar let go and threw his arms around Arcade instead. From the look of it, Arcade hadn't expected that either. 

"Thanks," Gunn said, a little muffled against the lab coat.

Boone stared in shock. Arcade looked back at him, stunned. 

Gunnar let go and wiped at his eyes. "Oh, God," he said. "I love you guys. I'm so — " He turned back to Boone and hugged him tightly again. Boone glared at Arcade with narrowed eyes, while Arcade looked nonplussed about the whole thing.

~ ~ ~ 

Arcade bandaged up Boone's leg before they kept going. "You should really rest that, but we can rest better at Novac."

Boone said nothing, but by the time they reached Novac after dark, his leg hurt worse and he wondered if they should have stopped after all. But now they were home. It didn't feel like home anymore to Boone, but it was home for Gunnar, and that counted.

He limped up the stairs behind the other two. Gunn was just being friendly. Didn't understand a joke. Of course he'd be free with the hugs. Didn't mean anything. Gunn thought he could be friends with the whole world. It was obvious Arcade hadn't expected it either, so he wasn't trying anything. 

Gunnar unlocked the room and they trooped in. "Wish we had water," he said, so much weariness in his voice. "Like the suite at the Tops." He sat in the worn-out easy chair and buried his face in his hands.

"I hope you're not suggesting we haul water up here tonight," Arcade said. He shed his pack and rolled his neck to get the kinks out.

"No. I'm not."

"Tomorrow," Boone said. "Gunn? You hungry?"

"I guess." Gunnar gestured toward the broken fridge. "There's some mac and cheese packs in there. Who were you fighting?" Gunnar asked, lifting his head.

"Today? Mercs. Someone's hit squads. You were right, you've made enemies." Boone found the ready-to-eat food packs.

"Mercs? Whose?" Arcade removed his lab coat and hung it in the wardrobe.

"I don't know. Not Legion. And Mr. House would send robots, I think." Good, these were the self-heating packs. Boone pulled the tabs and set the packs on the scarred countertop.

"It wouldn't be Followers. But there are so many gangs… It would be nice if people just stopped trying to kill each other for a while. Gunnar, drink some water, you could use it."

"How much do we have left?" Gunnar reached for his pack. Food and water and a bath and…

"Don't worry about it. You need it." 

Gunnar hated to get into bed as dirty as he was, but there wasn't a choice. He ate the warmed food without great enthusiasm. "When —" he began, and stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing." Gunnar shook his head. "We have to get back to Vegas. I have to see Mr. House."

"You got that chip?" Boone asked, watching him closely.

"Yeah, I got it back at the Fort. Took care of things there." Gunnar pushed the last of the macaroni around the bottom of the package. 

"Arcade says you spoke with Caesar." Boone looked back to the fridge. He could stand some more food.

"Yeah."

"What did _he_ have to say?"

"Wants me to work for him."

Both Arcade and Boone stared at him. "You're not serious," Arcade said.

"He was." Gunnar finished the last of the macaroni. Now he felt a little better. More food, maybe.

"You turned him down," Boone said, his tone implying that had better be what happened.

"No."

Boone half rose from his chair. "What are you —"

"I didn't quite agree either. If I'd said no we wouldn't be alive now." Gunnar rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "I had to get us out."

"What does he want you to do?" Arcade asked quietly.

"Work for him. Special missions. Things like that."

"Bullshit." Gunnar jumped at the sharpness in the sniper's voice. "You killed his men, his hit squads — suddenly he wants you on his side? I don't buy it."

"I do," Arcade said. "Gunnar's survived quite a lot. He's competent, lucky, or both. Why not cut your losses and woo him to your own side? Take advantage of success rather than keep throwing lives away trying to kill him."

"Okay," Boone agreed after some thought. "But what could he offer?" 

"Wealth? Power? Those alone would tempt many a man. Caesar is a God to his followers. If he says Gunnar Volk is now one of his men, they'll see it as proof of their God's supremacy. It's a terrible blow to morale for everyone else. And some people might like the idea of serving Caesar. He has the wealth of his empire behind him, and probably one could ask for benefits such as slaves and trinkets." Arcade looked to Gunnar, but the latter had fallen asleep in his chair.


	16. Button Up Your Overcoat

Gunnar woke and realized he felt better. Maybe because he was back in his own head after a week or more. Also, he was _hungry,_ really hungry. And he didn't remember dreaming. That was a plus.

He took a deep, relaxed breath. Yes. Better. Maybe today he could get cleaned up. Oh, and ask the McBrides if they had some brahmin steaks to spare. 

Gunnar looked to his side. Boone slept there, back to him. _Craig Boone,_ he thought idly. Oh, and Arcade should be around here too. Gunnar lifted his head; nope, not on the couch. _Hope he's not on the floor._ He certainly wasn't in the bed with them. 

The Pipboy read eight-thirty-four in the morning; so maybe Arcade had already gotten up. It was late for Gunnar to be sleeping, but it had been a bad week, from all accounts.

Thinking back on the time before he'd shut down, Gunnar sobered. He still had to deal with the Legion and Mr. House and there were other things to consider, too… he covered his face with his hands, then ran his hands upward through his hair so it stood all on end. _Euch,_ he was filthy. Dirty.

_Bloody hands_

No.

Gunnar got out of bed and went to find some water.

~ ~ ~

They were already a week out of the Legion camp, so another day wasn't likely to do anything but make Caesar wonder what he was up to, and make Mr. House send Victor out to look for him, if he wasn't already. House probably already knew that Gunnar had a room in Novac, but they hadn't seen the friendly Securitron yet.

Gunnar ate an entire brahmin steak, felt sick afterward but managed to not vomit it all back up, and spent the rest of the morning in shorts, doing the laundry.

"You look ridiculous," Arcade said when he returned in the early afternoon. Gunnar was on his second batch of water in the old tub, trying to get all the clothes clean. 

"Nice to see you too. You want to throw yours in? I've got Boone's in here."

"I hate to ask where he is if all his clothes are in there."

"Very funny, but he's washing up next door." Gunnar had scrubbed himself clean, shaved, and now just looked gaunt instead of half-starved, vacant-eyed and filthy. "Nobody's staying there right now, and the laundry took up the tub." He absently scrubbed his hands together in the gray, soapy water.

"Thanks, but I'd rather my coat doesn't turn dark gray from all the muck you two added in there. I'll take care of it myself." Arcade stood there a little longer, as Gunnar stirred the laundry with a stick and took out something, yes, dark gray, and wrung it out.

"Where were you?" Gunnar asked. "You've been out all morning."

"Around." Arcade looked at the books on Gunnar's bookshelf. "Interesting collection here."

"Anything that wasn't too damaged."

"And your diaries."

"Yes." Gunnar glanced over to make sure Arcade wasn't browsing through them. "Hey — where's the one I had on me? I gave it to Boone before we went to the Fort."

"He probably still has it. You weren't in a state to write."

"Yeah." Gunnar fished another piece of clothing from the tub, wrung it out, shook it out and hung it to drip dry next to the sink.

"How are you feeling now?" Arcade leafed through one of the old books.

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"As good as I can expect," Gunnar said with a half-shrug. "You know what I went through."

"Only what happened afterward. You were functional, leaving Caesar's camp, but hardly at your best." Arcade put the book back. "I told you to try to keep from spacing out while you were there. But afterwards you went catatonic. I suppose we should be glad you put it off until we'd rejoined with Boone." He came to stand near Gunnar. "How ill are you?" he asked. 

Gunnar looked him over, then turned back to the laundry. "I've been through a lot. Sometimes I try to remember — except it comes without warning. Just a flash of memory, like a…" He made a small, rueful laugh. "I don't remember the word for that, either. I used to know it, though. And then it… it has to happen in my head," he gestured vaguely, "while I'm trying to remember, and my entire mind is tied up in it while it happens."

"You're sure these aren't seizures?" But Arcade didn't sound sure of it, either.

"I suppose they could be. But see?" Gunnar tilted his head and gently held back the hair around his scar. "This is where he shot me. Where Doc Mitchell put me back together. I lost… a lot. Part of my brain, you could say, but also part of me. It comes back now and then, but never enough to do anything besides cause problems."

Arcade looked serious. "Can I look?"

"Sure, just don't touch it directly. In the early days I would black out if I touched it. Hasn't happened since, but…"

Gunnar stared at the damaged artwork on the wall as he felt Arcade's fingers on his scalp. He really didn't want to black out again, not where he could smack his head into a ceramic tub and possibly spill his brains into the laundry. _Good luck getting those stains out,_ he thought dully.

"This Doctor Mitchell did good work," Arcade said. "I though you were being dramatic when you said you'd died."

"No." Gunnar kept his eyes on the wall. He could feel Arcade's fingers pushing gently through his hair, touching his scalp, but he didn't black out. Maybe it had healed enough in the months since then. Maybe — 

_"I could cut your hair."_

_"You know how to do that?"_

_"I'm a man of many talents." A smirk._

Gunnar blinked. Arcade had stepped back.

"That was one of those, wasn't it?" the doctor asked.

Gunnar nodded. "Not very long."

"These are pieces of memory from before this incident?" Arcade pointed to Gunnar's head.

"Yes. I think so. It's — " He pulled a shirt out of the tub and wrung it fiercely in his hands, so the water splashed down. "It's really wearing on me. I wish I could remember. But every time I do, it's just a little bit, and it short-circuits my brain so I stare into space like some drooling idiot." He twisted the shirt again, hard, as if it were to blame.

"You’ve never washed clothes by hand before, have you?" Arcade asked.

But before Gunnar could ask what he meant, Boone returned, a well-worn throw blanket held to cover the important parts.

"Cold as a witch's ti — You're back," Boone said, on seeing Arcade in the room.

Arcade looked from nearly-naked Boone to shorts-clad Gunnar. "If this is meant to be a set of hints, I think one of you should buy me a drink first."

"It's not a hint," Boone said tightly. "But all my clothes are — they're still wet?" he asked Gunnar.

"Well, yeah. It's cold and they're going to take time to dry. You should've seen the water the first time around." 

"What the hell am I supposed to wear? I can't — don't say it, Gannon."

"Not a word," Arcade said, half-hiding a grin behind his hand. The situation was more comical than arousing, which — no, that actually made it equally difficult to bite his tongue. Being effectively trapped between two virile younger men in the small room could have provided him near-infinite material for either nervous jokes or dirty talk, depending on which direction he went, and neither would help his professional or personal relationship with either of them. With great difficulty, Arcade forced himself to focus on the professional — the way Gunnar’s skin seemed to sag on his body after his week of catatonia, that strangely scalloped round scar on his upper arm — rather than on the hair, a darker red than his head, that ran down Gunnar’s chest and belly into his shorts, or on the way Boone’s biceps stood out from the force with which he was holding his blanket closed.

“I suppose you might have to lie down until your clothing dries,” he suggested to Boone, carefully professional now. “Or at least sit and keep your leg propped up, so it can finish healing. Either way, you could keep yourself covered more easily if you’re not moving around as much.”

Boone didn't grumble, but eased himself under the bed's blanket until he was sitting propped up and suitably covered. "There. Happy?"

"Exceedingly. Gunnar, sit down too. Your Vault had laundry facilities, didn't it?"

"I don't — "

"Remember, I know. I'll do the rest of this — "

"Thanks."

" — if you'll tell us what happened at the Legion camp."

Gunnar went quiet and used the stick to lift what was probably pants out of the tub. 

"Go on," Arcade said, taking the stick. "Sit down. Get comfortable. Tell us what happened."

"I don't want to."

"Gunnar. Who's the doctor here?"

"I am."

Arcade was taken aback. "You are?"

"No, I — I am — I'm — " Gunnar rubbed the side of his head. "I'll sit down."

"Good." Arcade watched him sit on the edge of the bed. Boone was within arm's reach if needed. Arcade looked again at the stick and laundry tub and winced. He meant well, but growing up in a Vault hadn't really prepared Gunnar for life outside it. "Go ahead," he said, when the silence lengthened.

"What part first?"

"Getting to the camp. In case you remember anything we should know, or that I might have missed. I filled Boone in on what I observed."

"Oh. Did you write it down?" Gunnar twisted to look at Boone, who nodded.

"Good. The NCR needs to get that." It was obvious Gunnar really didn't want to discuss it. But he took a deep breath and began, with the boat trip, duration and direction, and then the camp itself. He remembered quite a bit about that — approximate numbers, supplies, armaments — more than they had expected him to remember without notes and a week of ill health. 

By the time Gunnar was listing the number of Praetorians he remembered at Caesar's tent, Arcade had taken up the diary and pencil and was writing the information down as fast as Gunnar could tell it. 

"You're sure this is all accurate?" Arcade asked, when Gunnar paused for water.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Then what?" Boone asked.

"Caesar… said he wanted me to destroy whatever was in the bunker, the one the chip was meant to open. Then I got to talk to Benny. He was… a prisoner there."

"So they caught him. What'd he have to say?"

"He'd tried to get to the bunker too. They roughed him up before we got there. He told me his story — I'll write it down myself later. And… told me what he wanted me to do."

"Wait." Boone leaned forward, then made sure the blanket still covered his hips. "So now Benny wants you to do something too? What the hell."

"Yeah, everyone wants me to do something for them," Gunnar said faintly. "Mr. House wants me to work for him. Caesar wants me to work for him. Benny…" He almost took a drink of water, and continued. How he and Arcade went into the radioactive bunker, talked to Mr. House via computer and found the Securitron factory.

He paused long enough for Arcade to catch up.

"There's an entire robot army right under a major Legion camp," Boone said. "And Caesar really doesn't want to use it?"

"No. He doesn't. No honor in using machines to fight for you."

"Then I'm an honorless sonofabitch, because I'd use those in a heartbeat." Boone crossed his arms. Arcade glanced up at that for a long moment before looking to Gunnar. 

"I would too," Gunnar said. "But they've still got artillery, and probably numbers. Dynamite or grenades would work. So the robots themselves won't be enough."

"No, but they'll help. So you activated the whole place. Then what?"

"Then I went back to Caesar and told him I'd destroyed everything. He believed me. My reward was… I could… decide how Benny would die."

All three were quiet for a while, Gunnar turning the glass water bottle in his hands.

"I didn't hear anything," Arcade said. 

"No. You wouldn't. They had Benny somewhere else. He knew it was coming. He…" Gunnar took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "He was happy to hear what I'd done. Said I should use them. Myself. And…" He looked to Boone, eyes full of pain. "You remember, you had to, had to kill someone so they wouldn't, so it wouldn't be worse?"

"Oh, damn," Boone whispered. "Gunn."

Gunnar shook, couldn't control it, seeing Benny looking at him again, knowing he was about to die and trusting Gunnar to not screw it up. Some of the water splashed out of the bottle and onto his shaking hands, and he scrubbed to wipe it off.

"But he tried to kill you," Arcade pointed out. "At least twice that we know of."

Gunnar shook his head, sharply. "Not the same. Not when he's — helpless."

"But you were when he shot you — "

"Shut up," Boone suggested. "Gunn's not like that." He reached for the man and pulled him close; Gunnar didn't resist.

"You killed him?" Arcade asked.

Gunnar nodded, staring. 

"Damn. That… explains quite a bit, if you had to execute him. No wonder you went into shock. But it’s past now. You're finally out of that, and now you have to get well."

"So I can get back to work," Gunnar whispered, still staring.

"Hey. Don't talk like that," Boone said. He made Gunnar look him in the face. "It won't leave you for a long time. I know this. But you're not alone. Not like some people."

"I suppose," Arcade said slowly, "There's another option."

They looked at him. 

"Get out of the Mojave. That leaves California, because Caesar controls the east. But it's still an option."

"No." Gunnar left Boone and began pacing. "That isn't an option. I can't walk away and, and hide." He rubbed his arms as he paced. "That would still leave all of this mess. Caesar would find someone else to do his dirty work, so would Mr. House, and they'd both send people after me to bring me back or kill me." 

"So we still have to save the world," Boone said, "or at least this part of it. That part hasn't changed."

"I guess not," Gunnar said, still pacing. "But there's still so many variables to take into account. I should have realized it wouldn't be as simple as Legion bad guys, NCR good guys. I mean," he shook his head, "that's oversimplistic. I should have known better. History tells us, if we think to listen, that there are multiple factors in any situation, that come together and cause an event. There has to be a catalyst, something to start it all, and something to keep the event going. Caesar's expanding, he has dreams of recreating the world in his image, which is a distortion of ancient Rome. The NCR's expanding too, and so they're meeting and because they're incompatible, of course they're going to butt heads. But Vegas is restive, there are all the little loose tribes…" He shook his head again. "I should write this all down."

"You were a historian," Arcade said.

Gunnar looked at him without much surprise.

"A Vault would have all that old data and history in it. You must have been a scribe or historian, based on what you just said."

"I always said you were from a Vault," Boone added.

"I guess we can all agree on that too," Gunnar said, stopping his pacing. "So will you finish the laundry, Arcade, or was that just to get me to talk?"

"Yes and yes. Don't you have any spare clothes?"

"They're in the tub."

"Of course they would be."

"Your pajamas," Boone said.

So Gunnar put on pajamas and sat down to update his diary, while Boone amused himself supervising Arcade's laundry operation.

"I didn't come on this trip to do all the household chores," Arcade said, when the clothes were finally done properly and drying.

"You want me to buy food in my pajamas? I can't see that becoming the great new fashion trend. And Boone can hardly go out." Gunnar had remembered an old jumpsuit he'd taken from Vault 22 to use for patching other clothes. It wasn't Boone's size — too narrow in the shoulders, too short in the legs — but at least he was covered up enough to get out of bed. 

"Whoever wore this was a spindle-shanked freak," Boone grumped. 

"I can see you both need lessons in time management."

"Not me. Him," Boone said. "I didn't make a mess of the laundry."

"Sure, blame it on the Vault dweller."

Gunnar listened with half an ear to their banter. He did feel better; he'd told them what happened, and of course some time had passed on it; and they were back to what they should be. He frowned. Should be? That didn't seem right — and yet — 

"When we go back to Vegas," he said, "there's still a lot to do. Assuming nothing else happens on the way — "

"You know what happens when you do that."

 _"Assuming nothing else happens,"_ Gunnar reiterated, "I need you two to clear things out of the suite at the Tops and bring it to the Lucky 38."

"We also serve who fetch and carry," Arcade sighed. "But I understand why you want to move."

"It's a nice place," Boone said. "We don't have to leave it. Running water, even hot water, room service — "

"I don't think I can stay there."

"Suit yourself. But maybe make sure the 38 is good enough, before we haul things across the street. Hey, maybe we can get some of the Chairmen to do it."

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
…I think that's everything that happened. This book's getting full; at least we're in Novac so I can get another one off the shelf._

 _Still to do:  
\- talk with various tribes in and around Vegas  
\- deal with Mr. House  
\- haircut!! Needed this before we left, def. need it now  
\- convince Arcade to stay with us after we return to Vegas  
_   
Gunnar tapped the pencil against his teeth. Why was that last important? For one thing, Arcade was of a scientific bent, and he and Gunnar could talk about such things, where Boone listened politely. For another, Gunnar genuinely liked the man. Boone seemed to get along with him now too. But there was something else he couldn't quite catch, something… anyway, it was important.  
 _  
\- report Legion info to NCR  
\- make more purgative  
\- buy civilian clothing  
\- also socks  
_   
~ ~ ~

They spent two more days in Novac, resting and letting Gunnar regain weight and strength. It was boring, but necessary; if he staggered into the Strip looking like he'd fall over from a stiff breeze, nobody was likely to take him seriously.

Arcade disappeared now and then, and Gunnar didn't ask where he went. He knew by now that Arcade wouldn't answer any personal questions anyway. That seemed distantly familiar, but Gunnar didn't chase the ghosts in his memories down that path. He needed to sort the information, copy relevant parts onto pages to go to the NCR, and get better.

Boone was very bored, especially as his leg healed quickly enough that he was up and about. He avoided Manny Vargas and the other sniper the town had hired for protection, and when he'd had enough of being cooped up in the room, he went out into the desert for a while, hunting or scavenging or just being on the move.


	17. Terrible Things

"The Strip's not a bad place if you love terrible things and people," Arcade said, as they entered the Lucky 38. "I'll never understand the allure of giving away your money to the rich…"

The Presidential Suite at the Lucky 38 turned out to be larger than Benny's suite at the Tops. The bathroom was expansive, though they all wondered why you needed a sofa and chair in there; there was a rec room with pool table, radio and nonfunctional television; and two bedrooms. The lesser held two large beds, but the larger room — 

Boone whistled. "A family could sleep in that bed."

A small family, Gunnar thought, but yes. Or at least three adults. 

"Don't get too comfortable," Arcade said, checking the contents of the shelves. "Not a book in sight," he muttered to himself.

"We'll fix that. Arcade, will you stay here until I come back from my talk with Mr. House?"

"Sure. Just don't be gone too long. I'd hate to get as dusty as the furniture."

Said furniture wasn't that dusty; Gunnar suspected the robots cleaned now and then. "Yeah. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Boone asked.

"I don't think I have a choice. Mr. House is… particular about who gets to visit."

~ ~ ~

"Hello again, Mr. House."

Gunnar was prepared this time. Seal up the human part of himself in a Vault, and be cold and ruthless, like everyone trying to use him so far.

"It took you long enough. Where is the chip?"

"I have it. It was a lot of work to get it back."

"Because you let it escape your hold twice already. Now, insert the chip."

"A lot of work involving much more hazardous duty than I anticipated."

"Fine. I'll quadruple your negotiated contract. And let me point out that there are no less than six fully armed and alert Securitrons in this room alone."

"Point taken. Sir." Gunnar slid the platinum chip into the slot. 

"Such a small thing, isn't it?" Mr. House sounded as tender as a father with his child. "And yet so… capacious. So very dear." As if turning back to Gunnar, he spoke less emotionally: "Decades of hiring salvagers out west to search for this little …relic in the ruins of a place called Sunnyvale. Back then, anyway.

"That's where the Chip was printed, on October 22, 2077. It was to have been hand-delivered to me here, at the Lucky 38, the next day. But the bombs fell first. Suffice it to say, the delivery was never made."

Gunnar looked around the penthouse. He could see four of the six Securitrons from this position. Several bookshelves with lovely full leatherbound sets of something or other; those would be worth looking at later. Furniture that no one had used for decades, maybe centuries, still kept neat and clean. There had to be more to this place, but maybe elsewhere in the building. "I'm surprised you haven't asked what became of Benny," he said. Keep House talking. Gunnar probably had to stay put, couldn't walk around while supposedly listening, but he could stand and look.

"That's because he ceased to be relevant when you recovered the Platinum Chip. Revenge doesn't interest me, progress does. Sorry to deny you a moment of primate triumph, but you'll have to go elsewhere to sound your barbaric yawp."

_He should take better care of his tools._

_It's business, not friendship. Better we should both know where we stand._

Gunnar wished the memory-voices in his head would shut up for a while. "What happens next?"

"A great deal shall be happening — a cascade of events, with you taking a central role. At the moment, however, all you need to do is take the elevator all the way down to the bottom level. Hurry along, now. We have much to do, you and I."

~ ~ ~

"I thought you'd be pacing a path in the carpet by now," Arcade said. 

"That's not how I do things."

"Not how you worry, you mean."

"I don't like this." Boone had repaired his armor, checked his ammunition, maintained his rifle, and was now out of useful ways to be nervous. "None of it."

"I doubt any of us like this. We should have stayed outside; now we're hostages, if Mr. House deems it necessary to make Gunnar do his will."

"We can still fight our way out."

"True, but that might get messy, and I know you're more likely to fight your way in, looking for him." Arcade had spent his time rearranging things on shelves. All the pamphlets here, the ashtrays here, pencils here… "I think that's why Mr. House is doing this, you know. Caesar doesn't trust any of us; but Mr. House likely knows Gunnar relies on us, considers Gunnar malleable."

"Mr. House can take a flying — "

"He might be listening," Arcade interrupted.

"… Yeah. Okay."

~ ~ ~

"Step closer to the demonstration area, if you would."

Gunnar did so. Everything was fortified behind thick panes of security glass, sandbags and barricades. Another monitor with Mr. House's face lowered from the ceiling.

"I expect you're well familiar with my Securitrons by now. The titanium alloy housing that protects its electronic core deflects small arms and shrapnel easily enough…"

Two Securitrons below demonstrated as Mr. House talked.

"Its X-25 gatling laser, produced to spec by Glastinghouse, Inc., is deadly against soft targets at medium range, and for close-range suppression or crowd control, the Securitron is armed with a 9mm submachinegun."

The glass could dampen the sound only so much. Gunnar studied the robots. Dynamite or pulse grenades, he thought again, because that housing will shrug off anything else. 

"All of this, you probably already knew. What you did not know is that these are the Securitrons' _secondary_ weapons."

Oh, shit.

"All this time, my Securitrons have had to get by running the Mark I operating system, which lacked software drivers for their primary weapons! Today, with the delivery of the Platinum Chip, all that changes. Behold, for the first time, Securitrons running the Mark II OS!"

The faces on the Securitrons' screens changed from policemen to soldiers. New equipment ports opened on their chassis.

"The M-235 Missile Launcher gives the Securitron the ability to engage ground and air targets at significantly longer ranges…"

Gunnar covered his ears as the explosions shook the glass panels in their housings.

"And a rapid-fire G-28 grenade launching system ensures the Securitron is deadly in close-range engagements."

He's giving a demonstration for me, Gunnar thought, because nobody else is around to appreciate it. Why show off to an empty room?

~ ~ ~

"Did you hear that?" Arcade cocked his head. Boone did too, listening.

"Thunder?" Arcade guessed, uncertainly.

"I don't think so."

~ ~ ~

"All together, the Mark II software upgrade confers a 235% increase in combat effectiveness per unit. The city of New Vegas finally has soldiers worthy of protecting it!"

The dust settled, leaving the Securitrons victorious over the rubble on the demonstration floor.

"Return now to the penthouse. We have much to discuss, now that you're fully aware of just what you've helped set in motion."

~ ~ ~

 _Vegas will be Nova Roma if Caesar takes it. It's Mr. House's pet zoo or dollhouse, or however you want to look at it,_ Gunnar thought, as he rode back up. _The NCR wants it too, if for no other reason than to keep it from everyone else. Benny said to free the city, but to do that I'll have to keep everyone else out, and make appropriate alliances… it would be easier to keep being the errand boy, wouldn't it?_

Easier but rankling. He was doing all the work.

"Trips to the basement are rarely so educational, don't you think?"

"Yes, Mr. House." Best to sound like a good little errand boy for now.

"I've since broadcast the upgrade to every Securitron in range of my transmitters, and I must say, it's causing quite a stir down on the Strip!"

~ ~ ~

"You can actually see down to the ground," Arcade said, leaning (carefully) against a window.

"Don't fall out. I don't think even Doc Mitchell could put you back together if you splat all over the Strip." Boone came to look as well, but didn't press up to the glass. "Something going on?"

"People are looking at the Securitrons, which are… I can't quite make it out from here. Moving but I'm not sure what they're doing."

~ ~ ~ 

"The foundation is laid. My Securitrons on the Strip are upgraded, and those at the Fort, ready for action. Now it's just a matter of adjusting the attitudes of some lesser groups while we wait for Caesar's Legion to attack Hoover Dam."

Over there, a terminal and some kind of blast door. Gunnar saw them on the way back to the main computer bank and giant monitor with Mr. House's face on it. 

"The next step is to add the Boomers' considerable firepower to my growing arsenal… or at the very least, ensure their neutrality."

Mr. House sounded very self-satisfied, as if he were strolling in his three-piece suit, hands clasped behind his back, graciously awarding his very subordinate fellow man a glimpse at greatness he could not begin to understand.

"I should let you know that I planted a surveillance device on one of your data terminals," Gunnar said.

"Yes, I know. It was detected immediately and deactivated… let's see… 39.735 seconds after you planted it. You thought I wouldn't notice?"

"It would be stranger if you didn't notice, I think."

"Let me point out that who you did it for doesn't matter to me, though I'm guessing it was the Followers of the Apocalypse, or perhaps the Brotherhood; but since you're in bed with the Followers, so to speak, I think they're more likely. They're curious about me."

 _Why hasn't he set up a personal Securitron for him to wander around in? Instead of projecting through terminals,_ Gunnar wondered. There must be a reason. Maybe Mr. House's ego was too big to fit in one armored robot.

"What are your plans for New Vegas?" As much as he disliked the man, Gunnar knew Mr. House wasn't in this position by dumb luck. Mr. House had been around for a very long time, and he'd had lots of time to make plans and take precautions.

"I've resurrected Vegas, spirit intact. What I need now is the ability to enforce my rightful claim. Not just against Caesar's Legion, by the way. In fact, the NCR is a more present and insidious threat."

"The NCR? Because they'll annex New Vegas?" They already had a base here. "I thought they were after Hoover Dam."

"The salient issue is that _they_ will go to war with _me_ , if given the chance. There's just one reason why the NCR hasn't contrived some outrage to justify invading the Strip — Caesar's Legion."

Mr. House needed both sides to keep the other at bay. "It can't last forever," Gunnar said.

"How very perspicacious of you. Yes, the final battle between those two armies is fast approaching. I can't afford to let either side win on their terms."

"So whatever happens, you intend to win." Gunnar trailed his fingers over the perfect spines of the books. These were for show, not to be read. "And then what?"

"New Vegas is more than a city — it's the remedy to mankind's… derailment." If Mr. House had been physically present, he would have stood _there,_ Gunnar thought, looking proudly over the city through the great glass windows. "The city's economy is a blast furnace in which can be forged the steel of a new rail line, running straight to a new horizon. What is the NCR?" He continued without expecting an answer. "A society of people desperate to experience comfort, ease, luxury… A society of customers. With all that money pouring in? Give me 20 years, and I'll reignite the high technology development sectors. 50 years, and I'll have people in orbit. One hundred years, and my colony ships will be heading for the stars, to search for planets unpolluted by the wrath and folly of a bygone generation."

That was more than Gunnar had expected, certainly, but it made sense. Why not have grandiose dreams, if you'd survived so long? And if you _could_ survive so long, why not take the long view of things? "That's amazing," he said, and meant it. "You would rule over all of this, wouldn't you? Sole ruler of all you survey."

"I know what you're implying, Gunnar Volk. If you want to see the fate of democracies, look out the windows."

"So you would be a just emperor? A new Nerva or Marcus Aurelius?"

Mr. House laughed; it came tinnily through the computer speakers. "Don't mock me, boy. I will create no Gilded Age of Rome. And if you've genuinely studied your history, you know that even the Five Good Emperors had troubles. No, I would rule as a chief executive. I would not answer to a board of directors or any other entity. Nothing to impede progress. I have no interest in abusing others — "

_It just happens, I suppose._

" — just as I have no interest in legislating or otherwise dictating what people do in their private time. Nor have I any interest in being worshipped as some kind of machine god messiah. I am impervious to such corrupting ambitions. But autocracy? Firm control in the hands of a technological and economic visionary? Yes, that Vegas shall have."

"And my place in this? It sounds like you have everything well in hand." Gunnar went to the window to look out. It was growing dark over the city. The windows hadn't been cleaned in a long time, and he could hear the wind whistling past. 

"To achieve my aims, I require a capable human agent to perform certain…" Mr. House mulled over possible words. "…tasks. I knew Benny was ambitious, even ruthless. But I believed he would do the job, so long as he was incentivized appropriately. Obviously, I miscalculated his drive for supremacy. But in any case, you've come along — a more-than-suitable replacement."

~ ~ ~

"I think we should look for him."

"Boone…" Arcade sighed. "I think you're right. It's been a long time, and something happened… downstairs, for lack of a better term. It's too dark to see what's happening on the Strip, anyway."

Boone shouldered his rifle. "Then let's go."

They got to the elevator, where Victor the Securitron stood in front of the doors. "Hello there, pardners!"

"We want to use the elevator," Arcade said.

"I'm right sorry about that, I plumb am, but you can't leave just yet," Victor said. "Mr. House's orders."

"Where's Gunnar?" Boone asked.

"He's still talking to Mr. House, so just simmer down, sport. Maybe cool your heels with a drink or two. I'm sure he'll be along shortly."

~ ~ ~

Always second in command, then, if that. To be the right hand of God, perhaps, doing the things that the God himself could not do. Mr. House didn't want to be worshipped, but, immortal, ruling from on high, no physical presence? 

"You're very proud of your city," Gunnar said, still looking out over it. "And of what you've done for it."

"Of course I am! Before the war, it was a place of splendor. As magnificent as today's Strip may seem, it's but a shadow of the neon paradise that was Las Vegas."

_I know._

"I grew up not far from here, and though I traveled the old world extensively, I never found another place like it."

"So you saved it." Benny had said — how'd he put it — _So Mr. House hid Vegas under his skirts, when the bombs dropped a thousand years ago?_ "How?"

That was the right thing to ask; Mr. House was thrilled to tell someone after all these decades, from the tone of his voice. "By 2065 I deemed it a mathematical certainty that an atomic war would devastate the Earth within 15 years. Every projection I ran confirmed it. I knew I couldn't ‘save the world,’ nor did I care to. But I could save Vegas, and in the process, perhaps, save mankind."

 _Maybe I can't save the whole world, but I could at least save some of it,_ Gunnar thought, remembering talks with Boone in the desert.

"I set to work immediately. I thought I had plenty of time to prepare. As it turned out, I was twenty hours short."

_"My place should be in the field to the very last minute, spying and sabotaging and negotiating and, damn it all, fighting to stop this before it really does happen.” His mouth worked, and he opened his arms to Gunnar. “But I can’t do that if the most important people in the world won’t be safe if I fail."_

Gunnar reeled and put out a hand to steady himself. He hadn't grown up in a Vault. _He had been in a Vault._ The people he didn't remember, someone he loved, who loved him, had put him there to, to protect him — 

_"Where are you?"_ he tried to scream. _"Who are you?"_

~ ~ ~

"Tell me where he is!" Boone thundered, drawing his rifle.

"Boone, don't anger the heavily armed robot," Arcade said, in the tone of one who knows his advice will be ignored.

"You should listen to Blondie there, Pardner," Victor said. "I'm slow to anger, but I've been upgraded and I can turn you into a thin red paste soon's look at you. I know you're just concerned about your friend, so I can overlook it this once. So why don't you put that popgun away, and go sit a spell in the rec room. Maybe play some pool. It'll take your mind off things."

~ ~ ~

"What's wrong with you?"

Gunnar found himself on his knees before the great cold window, one hand flat against it. "I was… overcome," he improvised, mouth and throat dry. "By… your age, and… your plan… and the, the vertigo."

Mr. House _hmph'd_. 

He must have missed something House had said, but he didn't dare ask to hear it again. "I'd like to prepare for my next mission, Mr. House."

"Good boy. And try not to take so long this time. Time and tide wait for no man, not even one such as I."


	18. Do I Want to Set the World on Fire?

Gunnar didn't expect the hearty, breath-squeezing hug from Boone as soon as he entered the suite, but he was grateful for it. "Good to see you again, too," he wheezed.

"Dammit, you've got to stop going alone to places," Boone said.

"I agree." Gunnar let his head rest against Boone for a few seconds, then stood free from him. "Arcade, you were right; we'd better get our things and go. We've got a lot of ground to cover, and the sooner we're away, the better."

Both Arcade and Boone got the hint. They'd been ready anyway, and very quickly they were out the door, with Victor's hearty "Y'all come back now! Don't be strangers!" sending them on their way.

"I'll tell you what happened once we get out of town," Gunnar said. There were still Securitrons all over — upgraded, visibly the same, but Gunnar knew they were now much more dangerous. He didn't need them, or anyone else, overhearing what he had to say.

He did notice that people gave him a wide berth. The word had gotten out after all, it seemed; this man is important, leave him alone. Others showed more respect to him than he would have expected. 

"Where are we going?" Arcade asked.

"Why, you want to check in with the Followers?"

"I'll admit, they'd probably prefer that. But if there's no time — "

"I'd prefer you stay with us," Gunnar said. "I need — advice. Maybe just talking it out will help, but I need both of you with me."

"Sure. Glad to help."

~ ~ ~

It was already dark, of course, but Gunnar made them keep going until Vegas was well behind them. Then they made camp for the night.

"No fancy beds tonight," Boone sighed.

"You got used to luxury, didn't you?" Arcade jibed.

"Like you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't know, since I'm relegated to the couch when we're in Novac."

Gunnar found some jerky so they wouldn't have to light a fire. "Mr. House has some big plans," he said, interrupting the banter. 

They settled down to listen, and he summarized what Mr. House had told him. "He plans to not only continue to rule Vegas, but to bring back all of civilization, or at least the parts he thinks are valuable."

"Go into space?" Boone scoffed. "Like those ghouls that took off in rockets a while back."

"Well, maybe, sure. Not in our lifetimes, from the sound of it. But he's survived since the war. He can afford the long view."

"Is he actually alive?" Arcade asked. "If he is, he must have amazing technology."

"Or he's a ghoul," Boone pointed out.

"He doesn't sound like a ghoul," Gunnar said, "but he only talks through the computers. And it's his… it's a good face. Strong face. Not a ghoul or a really old face. So I think that's what he looked like before the war. I don't know what he actually is. I mean, is he a ghoul, using the computers, or a computer program like the robots, or maybe he's really back there somewhere like the Wizard of Oz."

"The what?"

"Never mind. I'll tell you the story some other time." Gunnar picked at a piece of jerky stuck in his teeth. "Nrgh. Leaving aside what he is — if he's lasted this long, he's got plans for the future, and I don't see why he couldn't achieve them."

"Okay. So what do you need advice on?" Arcade asked.

"Which road to take, I suppose. If I work for Mr. House, I'm his errand boy, but I know where it's going. He needs someone alive and mobile to do these tasks for him, tasks his robots can't do. But that's all I'll ever be. I'll help him guide humanity back to greatness — probably — but I doubt I'll get the credit. I know, I know, I shouldn't be egotistic about it, but given the crap he's put me through, it pisses me off."

"You must be, to actually say it," Boone grinned. Then he grew serious again. "So that's one road. What are the others?"

"The second road leads to Rome — to be Caesar's errand boy instead."

"You can't be serious."

"It's an option. Not one I like, and I don't want to take it. Just pointing out that it's there."

"You did lose some brains if you think siding with Caesar is an option," Boone said.

Arcade interrupted. "Caesar's goal is fairly evident from everything he's done and what you said about him, and what the Followers know. He's recreated one of the great empires of history, albeit in a twisted form. By all accounts, as long as you don't mind the misogyny, the fact that everyone in Legion lands is technically Caesar's property, and the beliefs from childhood that to live and die for Caesar's purpose is all you're good for — on the other hand, their lands are peaceful, free of bandits and raiders, fairly prosperous, and have a unity of purpose that the Mojave could stand to emulate."

"What is this? The Legion are monsters!" Boone slammed his fist on the ground.

"We know, Boone." Gunnar sighed. "But Arcade's right. And no, I'm not going to join the Legion."

"Damn straight."

"Though at least Caesar would recognize my achievements. But I don’t think he’d make me his successor, either." Gunnar flicked a dry grass blade into the air. It fluttered back down. 

"Oh, I don't know. You know your history. He might appreciate that," Arcade said. 

Boone shot him a dark look. "You love Caesar so much, why don't you marry him."

"I'm saving myself for Mister Right. Also, I don't love him, I'm just playing devil's advocate. Caesar is an example of Follower learning that got twisted and misused. The Followers took him in, raised him, taught him, and in exchange he began an era of bloodshed, intolerance and war. Caesar is a stain on the Followers' cause."

Gunnar took his chance to reclaim the conversation. "Then there's the NCR. How long have they been fighting the Legion?"

Boone calculated. "Seven years now."

"Seven years is a long time to keep sending troops and supplies to the desert," Gunnar said. "I imagine it isn't very popular back home."

"They like the electricity well enough," Arcade said. "But if that got cut off — it wouldn't kill them. They lived without the power from the dam before. And Caesar would have trouble when it came to the mountains, but the NCR could dig in better there."

"Everyone bitches about the NCR until the soldiers leave, then they come crying about the raiders," Boone said.

"Is the Mojave actually NCR territory?" Gunnar asked.

"Yes."

"No."

A pause ensued.

"Because there's raiders now in the Mojave," Gunnar said. "And I've heard a lot of complaints about the taxes and the abuses of landowners in California."

"You're saying the NCR shouldn't be here?"

"I'm thinking they've bitten off more than they can chew, and people get resentful when liberators, or whoever’s in charge, take taxes and products in a perceived unfair exchange, and that doesn’t even get into — The Mojave's becoming the — what was it — there were examples from history, of places where the nation's armies got bogged down for years or even decades, and their pride kept them from just cutting their losses."

"If it weren't for the Legion, the Mojave would be pacified," Boone said. "If the NCR leaves, the Legion has free rein over the place."

"Yeah, it's a conundrum." Gunnar brushed his hair from his forehead. Still missed a haircut in his hurry to get in and out of Vegas, dammit. He didn't have a pair of scissors or he'd start hacking it off himself. 

"It sounds like you don't really want to side with anyone so far," Arcade noted.

"I'm not sure I do. Nothing is neatly black and white. You know? 'This is the good option, this is the bad one.' Except maybe the Legion," Gunnar added, before Boone could get started on that again. "That's out."

"So your choices are the NCR or Mr. House." Arcade took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

"There's another road I could take." Gunnar wished they'd set a fire now, so he could stare moodily into it, but so be it. 

They both waited for him to speak. "And that is?" Arcade finally said.

"Don't say you could walk away," Boone said. 

"I hadn't thought of that, but that's another one. How many are we up to now? Four? Five? No, I was thinking… Benny suggested it, before… before he died. Take out Mr. House and take Vegas for myself."

"If you did that," Arcade said slowly, "you'd have all these same problems, just like Mr. House did. Keeping everyone else at bay and away from your throat."

"I know."

"So why do it?" Boone said. "Why risk it all?"

"Because if I'm doing the work, I might as well get the credit and enjoy whatever perks I can from it? As well as the problems." Gunnar plucked another blade of grass. "I don't know."

“But you’d get the benefits too,” Arcade said. “The freedom to direct Vegas. To get all that tax revenue yourself.”

“The freedom to have enemies on all sides,” Gunnar countered, “and deal with the angry mobs myself.”

“But you don’t want to do it for Mr. House,” Boone said. “That’s what you said, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t want him bossing me around. I don’t want Caesar or the NCR bossing me around either.”

“You couldn’t run it by yourself.”

“Mr. House did,” Arcade said.

“Yeah, but…” Boone’s voice trailed off.

“But he also looked for someone — first Benny, then me — to boss around and tell them what to do.” Gunnar looked around for a bottle of water, uncapped it, and took a drink. “But he thought we’d be like his robots and do things exactly the way he said them, no arguments, no feelings. And people aren’t robots.”

“You don’t have to win a robot’s trust.”

"No. You're correct there. And robots don't think for themselves. Robots don't get resentful." Gunnar leaned back and looked at the sky. 

_A future for what remains of the human race._ Mr. House hadn't cared about saving the world in the first place. Himself, yes. Vegas, his favorite city, yes. The people in it… not directly. Mr. House was a dictator as much as Caesar, and had perhaps as much care for the people he ruled.

 _So if I take over? What then?_

_You'd be wasted in the wasteland. Nobody needs a historian when they're more concerned about their next meal and safety._

What was it Mr. House had said? With all the money coming into Vegas from the tourists and the NCR, he would reignite technology, get people back to the stars. It was a wonderful goal. Rebuild the world, rebuild civilization. But it was like a game, like toys, to Mr. House. Gunnar had no doubt House could manage it, untempered by mercy or human feeling. 

But if Mr. House had everything planned out… Gunnar's eyes widened. Mr. House wouldn't keep all that in his head. It must be in the data files somewhere. Projections. Plans. Things to rebuild, ways to make things, how to do it all. He must have that information somewhere. 

All the information to rebuild, with the knowledge of the past, and the humanity to go with it.

_Could I do that?_

_I could do that._

“I have an idea,” Gunnar said, sitting up. “But I need to think about it a while. Decide if it's really what I want to spend the rest of my life on, before I commit myself. So let’s get some sleep.”

There was little else to say after that. Arcade volunteered to stay awake for a while, in case any Securitrons, bugs or Legionaries decided to take a walk out here. Gunnar and Boone bedded down for the night, side by side, Boone putting his arm around Gunnar. To keep him close? To protect him? Both, probably.

They were an odd couple, Arcade thought. Not so much their personalities, but… that seemed to be all they did together. Cuddle, sometimes hug and kiss, but nothing more. Not even attempting to have surreptitious sex when they thought Arcade was asleep, and he'd seen that more than once with others he'd had to share space with.

Arcade had been careful to give them space in Novac, disappearing for some time every day, knocking before he returned, and yet it didn't seem they'd ever attempted anything. Maybe because Gunnar had just come out of a week of catatonia, sure. But even on the way to Cottonwood, nothing. It was a puzzle. 

Gunnar was still awake, staring up at the stars. Arcade kept his sigh to himself and took up position where he could watch the landscape, not his traveling companions. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar looked at the stars. He knew they weren't eternal. Stars were born and died too, just on different scales than people. But they shone on this earth and all on it, and they might as well be eternal.

Were souls eternal? Did they exist? He wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that someday, he would see his loved ones again. Because now he knew they were dead.

If they had gone into the Vault with him, they should have woken up with him. If that had happened, he wouldn't be here now. He was sure of that.

And — he frowned at this — it was definitely a "they". Maybe parents as well as… As that man he couldn't quite remember. Gunnar was fairly sure there were no brothers or sisters. But there was something else he was missing.

The thought that he was the only survivor hurt, but he'd already wondered, and suspected, something along that line. Why else would nobody have come looking for him? It had been a couple of months at least, since he'd woken up in Goodsprings. That was plenty of time for someone to look for him, especially lately.

No. They were dead. 

He rested his head on Boone's shoulder. He was tired of hurting, of feeling sick or ill, of dealing with these flashes of memory. Tired of all of it. 

So he needed to sleep. He'd feel better after sleep. The future wouldn't look so bleak in the morning, and he'd decide what to do then.


	19. I'll Walk Alone

"Another lovely morning," Arcade said, stamping to get some warmth into his feet. "Where are we going, by the way? You never said, in our hurry to flee Sin City."

Where indeed? He could go talk to the Boomers, as Mr. House ordered. Go kill Mr. House, as Caesar ordered. Or — 

"We're going to Bitter Springs," Gunnar said.

Boone's head snapped up.

"I made a promise we would go there, and it's long overdue," Gunnar said. And it gave him a little more time to think.

~ ~ ~

Boone hadn't forgotten Bitter Springs. Not completely. But he'd remembered it less and less, which was a blessing. Boone had been fine not going there, even after he'd decided he should. Now it was upon him. But he was in better shape now to handle it, he hoped. They'd find out.

~ ~ ~

It was late afternoon when they arrived at Bitter Springs.

"What exactly is Bitter Springs?" Arcade asked. "An NCR camp? A settlement?"

"Nowadays it's a refugee camp," Boone said slowly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. "Back then… We got sent from Camp Golf, looking for some Khans who'd been making trouble with one of our settlements. I guess one of the settlers was connected, because we sent everything we had. We figured this was a gang hideout, but… they'd led us to their home."

Gunnar matched his pace to Boone's. The sniper's pace had slackened, and Gunnar could guess why.

"There's a ridge called Coyote Tail on the south side. That's where we set up," Boone said.

"Should we go there?" Gunnar asked. Relive the memories. It wouldn't be easy. "We'll all go."

"Mm."

"Then on to the camp for the night?" Arcade suggested.

"Maybe." Gunnar gestured _don't push it_ and hoped Arcade understood.

~ ~ ~

"Canyon 37. That's what the NCR calls the pass down there."

Gunnar didn't know much of field tactics, but it looked like a straight shot down into the pass from up here. "What happened?"

"It was the Khans' only escape, so we set up here to guard it while the main force attacked from the front. Standing orders were to shoot on sight."

"Sounds fairly clear-cut." Arcade took a drink from his canteen.

Gunnar had an idea what was coming. "And then?"

Boone took a deep breath. The setting sun behind him painted the sky in reds and burnt orange. "Main force got spotted too soon. We heard shooting. Then Khans started coming through Canyon 37 in bunches. It was all wrong, though. Women, kids, elderly. Wounded started coming through, too. We radioed to confirm our orders but command didn't get what we were seeing. They told us to shoot till we were out of ammo. So that's what we did." He crouched and picked up a pinch of soil in his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Gunnar said. "That it happened at all."

"Sorry doesn't change things."

"I know." Gunnar put a hand on Boone's shoulder.

"That's what soldiers do," Arcade said. "You followed your orders."

"Yeah, well. I'm not a soldier anymore. Those rules don't seem like much of an excuse now."

The evening wind picked up, full of mid-December chill. Arcade wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders against it.

"Anyway…" Boone stood and straightened. "I don't know why we're here. Thought maybe it'd help me see things better."

"It's good we came," Gunnar said. Whatever the outcome.

"I'd like to stay here for the night. Think some things over."

"Sure."

"Right here?" Arcade asked. "Or in the camp?" Gunnar had wondered too, but wasn't going to ask it outright.

"Here. I need to think."

It wasn't going to be pleasant, sleeping on top of a windy, cold ridge, but Gunnar got out the bedrolls. "C'mon, Arcade. Let's make a windbreak. That should help."

~ ~ ~

They made a shelter to keep the worst of the wind off, but it was still chilly. Boone stayed on the ridge, so Gunnar and Arcade made the best of it under the lean-to against the rock.

"Can we build a fire?" Arcade asked.

"I don't think so. I don't want to set the shelter on fire." 

"It wouldn't — never mind," Arcade huffed.

"I know you're cold."

"Why aren't either of you?"

"Boone won't show it. I think I grew up somewhere cold. This isn't as bad as it could be."

Arcade muttered something and scowled. "What's so funny?" he said, when Gunnar grinned.

"You act like a wet cat."

"A what?"

"Never mind." It had felt so familiar, this moment. "You always hated the cold."

The wind filled the silence.

"Get over here," Gunnar said at last. He extended an arm in Arcade's direction. "At least while we're awake." 

Arcade considered and moved to sit next to Gunnar, who put his arm around the doctor. "That might help," Gunnar said. 

"Might. If your soldier-boy doesn't notice."

"He won't kill you. We're just staying warm."

"And only my need to not freeze is keeping me here." But it was a little warmer already, at least where their sides met. "Is he always this much of a martyr?"

"Stop it. Let him take his penance however he needs to. I hope you're not regretting your decision to go into the field."

Arcade snorted. "It's been… an education. And probably the others are glad I'm not there for a while. But I don't see why we couldn't have stayed one night in a nice hotel."

Gunnar chuckled.

"Perhaps not the Lucky 38," Arcade admitted. "I don't know if I could sleep, knowing House's robots, or House himself, were listening in. Maybe even watching."

"Yeah. I thought of that too. Even if the bed looked nice."

"Which one? That big one?"

"Well, yeah. I mean…" Gunnar sighed.

They fell silent again for a few moments.

"Are you happy with him?" Arcade asked, in a low voice, the kind guaranteed to attract the attention of anyone nearby.

"Mostly."

"Mm."

"I think we both need to feel better soon. For different reasons. Just… I'm tired of my brain not working right, and of everyone bossing me around. Tired of not remembering."

"And Boone?"

"You can ask him yourself."

"Touché." Arcade smiled, tight-lipped.

~ ~ ~

"Gunn."

Gunnar didn't want to wake up. It was nice and warm here under the blankets.

"Gunn. Wake up." A hand on his shoulder.

"Okay." Gunnar realized that Boone couldn't be shaking him awake if he was also in the bedroll. Which meant this was Arcade lying next to him. Nothing had happened, of course, but — Gunnar sat up. "What's wrong? What time is it?" It was still night, and cold.

"Something's wrong. Got a group coming our way. Looks like a Legion raiding party. It's big."

"Big?"

"Might be too big."

"That's what _she_ said," Arcade mumbled below them. 

"Stow it, Arcade." Gunnar got up. They'd taken off armor but slept in their clothes, so now he began to buckle the armor back on. "How far away, Craig?"

"Not far. We have to hurry."

They climbed to the top of the ridge, where Boone had stayed. Arcade managed to not grumble about the temperature. Instead he asked, "Where are they?"

"Out there." Boone pointed. "Lots of them, and dogs."

"Why're they here? Checking up on us?"

"I don't think they're here for us. The camp's an easy target for grabbing slaves. Bunch of refugees, just a few soldiers defending it."

"So we step up. It's good we came here." Gunnar still couldn't see any Legion, but maybe they were traveling without lights. How Boone had seen them was anyone's guess.

"So a handful of soldiers, and us, against a 'big' raiding party. What wonderful odds."

"Yeah. Going to be a bloodbath."

Gunnar looked hard at Boone. "You don't sound worried."

"I'm not. Always figured this was how it was gonna end for me. Just didn't know when." Boone's voice was flat and even.

"Jesus Christ, Boone — " Was he still beating himself up over all this?

"That day you showed up in Novac, I had a feeling I was supposed to go with you. That it was time to end all this. And now I know."

"Craig Boone." Gunnar gritted his teeth. "You aren't living under a curse and the universe isn't out to get you."

"They're coming." Boone slid down the side of the ridge.

"Always wanted to die a martyr," Arcade muttered. "No, actually, I didn't."

"You won't and neither will he. Come on," Gunnar said, drawing the barn gun. Then he checked himself. Boone or soldiers or civilians might get in the way. No, better to use the handgun instead.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar didn't like fighting at night. Too hard to see, too many shadows in the dark, and he was well aware that one wrong shot could go very, very bad. But he hadn't anticipated Arcade shooting a laser pistol into a tall Joshua tree that then erupted into flame like a great torch.

"Here we go!" Arcade shrilled. He couldn't seem to stop firing.

"Arcade! Short controlled bursts!" Gunnar yelled. The indiscriminate fires helped light up the place, but this was going bad already.

Had Arcade ever been in a firefight before? Gunnar hadn't thought to ask. Everyone in the Mojave seemed to have some firearm skills. Then he stopped thinking about that, when a Legion raider came into his sights.


	20. When They Sound the Last All Clear

_"Howdy folks, it's Mr. New Vegas, and I have a good feeling about all of you listening. If you like news, you're gonna love our next segment. A Legion slaver party was wiped out in a failed raid of the Bitter Springs refugee camp, with three armed civilians inflicting heavy Legion casualties. One witness said, quote, God sent us three angels. And at least one had him a .308 caliber flaming sword of justice with a telescopic sight. We'll have more news for you at the top of the hour. Got a song for you, now. It's about a guy who's cold on the exterior, but deep down, you know he's a good man. And his name… is Johnny Guitar."_

~ ~ ~

"Craig."

Boone looked as blank as Gunnar imagined he himself looked when one of those memories kicked in. But at last he turned to Gunnar. "…Alive after all," he muttered.

Gunnar stepped closer.

"I should've died here a long time ago. When I spotted the Legionaries I thought I understood. Things were finally going to even out."

"Boone. I wasn't going to let you die." Not when he'd already lost everyone else. Not when they both had. 

"I don't mean any disrespect. It's a hell of a thing having someone looking out for me." Boone finally turned toward Gunnar. Blood had dried on his cheek, someone else's blood. "But I've come to believe that there are things nobody can stop. I thought for sure that's what we'd finally come up against today."

Gunnar took him by the arm.

"It would've made sense for things to end here. But now… I'm still waiting." 

_He really expected to die. I thought he'd gotten better._ But then Gunnar had been in a bad way for a week, and Boone likely blamed it on himself. "No one is judging or punishing you. Things just happen."

Boone snorted. "If that's how it is, there's not a lot of comfort in knowing it."

"I know. And I know that, that it hurts. Okay? It all hurts. I know that." Gunnar began steering Boone toward the refugee camp. "It'll get better."

Boone sighed. "Goddamn it. It's like I'm being toyed with. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about all this." For the first time since they'd met, he sounded lost.

Gunnar reached up to turn Boone's face toward him. "You can't take back what you've done. But your regrets can set you on a better path." 

_Live._

Boone allowed himself to be taken to a tent and made to lie down on an old picnic table. He probably hadn't slept, Gunnar thought, and was on the adrenaline crash.

"Did you find him?" Arcade looked into the tent. "Good. Is he injured?" His coat, too, was stained with blood.

"I don't think so. Maybe in shock."

"Right." Arcade began his examination. "Go find our packs and get the extra water."

"On my way."

~ ~ ~

"That was a hell of a night. And day." Arcade splashed cold water on his face from the bowl provided. "Tell me why we came here again?"

"To let Boone confront his demons." Gunnar eased all three packs onto the dirt floor. This wasn't even a tent, it was a shack, made from pieces of old billboard panels as far as he could tell, which meant they were equally likely to stay up as to crumble and crush anyone beneath them. This was likely why even the refugees hadn't occupied it yet. Still, it was shelter, of a sort, if you didn't breathe too hard.

"We certainly did that." Arcade dried his face and hands on a none-too-clean rag. "But we survived, and maybe he'll be happier now that he's killed some Legion."

"Maybe." Gunnar looked uneasily at the rotting roof above them. "You're done helping with the wounded?"

"Yes. Fortunately most people took cover when the shooting started. Unfortunately that was only 'most'. No fatalities, but injuries will still kill if you're undernourished and hungry and cold, which most of these people are."

Gunnar paused in the act of opening a handmade packet of jerky.

"Go ahead and eat. We need it too. But perhaps we can spare some after that."

Gunnar ate, and tossed the packet to Arcade, who also took some.

"Where do we go after this?" Arcade asked, without the edge in his voice. "I'm pretty sure Caesar will hear that you were involved."

Gunnar snorted. "I never intended to side with him anyway. I guess the hit squads will come back out."

"And he won't give you a second chance to visit. Gosh, I'm all torn up about that." Arcade moved the tails of his coat out of the way and sat on the dirt floor. 

"Arcade — have you ever fired a gun before?"

"What? Me? Of course I have."

"You're the first person I've seen using energy weapons, is all." Gunnar found some pinyon nuts in a backpack pocket. "Do the Followers use a lot of energy weapons?"

Arcade tentatively leaned against the shack wall. "Energy weapons? Of course not." Then he tensed. "I mean… but, we study all sorts of science and technology so, you know, we… you just kind of get familiar with them. Yeah."

"Uh huh. You're a terrible liar."

"Who says I'm lying? I'd like to see you try using one of those, at night, against enemies you can't see."

"Okay, you're not lying. You're just a lousy shot." Gunnar smiled, to show no harm meant.

"Says the man who claims he can't hit a barn without a grenade launcher."

"Is that what this is?"

"Saints preserve us from fools and babes."

"I'm kidding, Arcade."

"…Oh." Arcade finished his piece of jerky. "I knew that."

~ ~ ~

Boone woke to find Gunn watching him. That wasn't strange. The cot he lay on felt hard as wood, though, and — perhaps it _was_ wood. 

He was still alive.

Gunnar was smiling at him. "Feeling okay?" he asked.

Boone tried to sit up and winced. Sleeping on an uneven wooden table hadn't done him any favors. "What happened?"

"You're too big to move so we let you sleep here. If you mean before that, we won. The Legion raiding party are dead or gone. Mostly dead." Gunnar was watching him closely. 

Boone sat up at last and rubbed his stiff neck. "They're dead."

"Yes."

"And we're not."

"No. We're alive. You're alive. And that makes me happy, because if you died I'd be very sad."

Boone laced his fingers behind his head and bent forward, then straightened and put his hands flat on the table. "Wouldn't want that."

"No, we don't want that. We want all of us to be happy, despite what's happened to us. I'll settle for content, though, or at least functional."

"What?" Boone didn't feel up for decoding whatever Gunn was talking about.

"I care about you. I'm pretty sure I love you, though it's tempered by your behavior lately. Does that help?"

"It scares the hell out of me," Boone said, meaning every word.

Gunn chewed on his lip, still looking at Boone.

"I don't want you dying because of me," Boone said.

"I feel the same way. And the reverse. I don't want you dying because of me, which, let's face it, means the most sense would be for us to part ways."

Boone felt cold inside.

"That's being coldly logical. But since I'm not very practical sometimes, I'd rather stay with you, and I'd rather you want to stay with me."

"But…"

"Boone. You and I don't have anyone else in this world, as far as I know. I'd rather have one person with me than none." Gunn held out his hand. "So this is your choice. But if you stick with me, your debt is paid. Okay? It's done. No more talk about that. If you stick with me, you're going to live. You won't — let the past keep hurting you."

"You want me to forget everything that happened?" Boone looked at Gunn's outstretched hand.

"No. But I'm tired of hurting, Craig. Aren't you?"

"Still feels like I'm living on borrowed time," Boone said. "But…"

But. 

He took Gunn's hand in his own. "You got a point. There's still some things I can do before all this is over. And… keep you safe."

Gunn smiled. "Keep each other safe. Okay? Now c'mon." He helped Boone off the table. "When we walk out of here, we're going to be alive. It's daylight outside. There's even some birds calling. We're alive, and we're together. Let's act like it."

~ ~ ~

"Good to see you again," Arcade said, when Gunnar and Boone returned. He glanced at them, pretended not to notice the held hands, and turned back to what he was doing. "Do you think there's enough armor pieces here to make something?"

"To fit you?" Boone asked.

"No, to fit my pet gecko. Of course to fit me. And not look like Legion, either."

Gunnar got his diary and pencil, while Boone turned over some of the pieces of armor.

Diary:  
__  
Bitter Springs turned out well. I think ~~Boone~~ Craig will be better now. Still v anti-Legion and I don't blame him, but I think he's on the mend.  
Legion attack during the night. We drove them off. Arcade needs shooting lessons I think. Will ask Craig about it. 

Gunnar tapped the pencil against the page, thinking what to write next. Arcade and Boone were deep in discussion about how to cobble together some armor and if they had to find an actual armorer. Gunnar began to write again.

_Still a lot to do, but I think we'll be okay._

~ ~ ~

"Gently on the trigger. Lasers don't kick, so you can go easier on it. No reason to use the whole charge at once."

"You're sure Gunnar can't teach this? It's in his name."

"Not in my nature," Gunnar said, smiling, from the fence where he sat. "And I don't have years of training behind me."

Arcade took the pistol in both hands again, sighted toward the target and fired.

"You're aiming high," Boone said. He stood behind Arcade to guide his arms. "There. Now try."

Arcade fired again, and this time got closer to the target center.

"Good. Now another ten times." Boone stepped back.

"Ten more? It's not like these energy cells grow on cactus, you know."

"Compared to how you shot up that cazador, ten is a drop in the bucket." Arcade couldn't seem to get beyond emptying an entire 'clip' at once whenever an enemy showed up, and Boone and Gunnar didn't know how to adjust the weapon, or if such a thing could be done.

"Fine." Arcade took aim.

"You're doing better," Gunnar said.

"Ha. Ha. So funny." Fired.

"No, really. Boone taught me, too, and I didn't know anything when I started."

"That's not true," Boone said.

Gunnar blinked. "It isn't?"

"You'd fired a gun before. Maybe you don't remember it, but someone taught you at one point. You knew _some_ things. Still couldn't aim worth a damn, but you knew how to hold it."

Gunnar frowned at that. "If you say so."

"I do. Someone thought you needed to know, and taught you."

_Arms around him from behind. Hands correcting his hold on the gun. Not Boone. Longer fingers, more wiry arms. Smoother cheek against Gunnar’s. Different scent, not gun oil but fine leather and light wool._

_“There. Line up your sights, and…”_

_The feel was intimate. “It’s not as if I’ll ever need to know how to do this,” Gunnar said. There were others, names that were escaping him even now…_

_A pause. “If someone tracks me back to you, I won’t have you being the only one who can’t defend yourself.”_

Gunnar came out from the memory to see Boone setting up old, rusty tin cans at the end of their makeshift firing range. Arcade was changing the energy cell in his pistol. Had either of them noticed? Or maybe they were being polite and letting him get through the fugue on his own. It wasn't like he ever fell down or foamed at the mouth. He just… spaced out a little, and then came back.

That was the man he'd been with, Gunnar was sure of it. The man who was now dead. Had to be. It hurt, not really remembering him or what he looked like. Why couldn't he remember? Or maybe it was meant to be a blessing in disguise: if he couldn't remember, he couldn't compare then and now.

Not that it really mattered, he supposed. The past was long gone now. He had to live for the present, and the future, whatever they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end of Part Three!  
> As always, your comments, kudos and support are all greatly appreciated! Thank you all :)


	21. When My Blue Moon Turns to Gold Again

"So now what? Are we doing to spend forty days in the wilderness, searching for answers?"

 _We'd miss Christmas,_ Gunnar thought, and wished he hadn't. He doubted anyone in the Mojave knew what that was, and it certainly wouldn't be anything like what he'd experienced — what he remembered — from his childhood. Funny, he could remember that, but not more recent things… "No, just a little longer. I hope that if we disappear into the wild, any assassins won't be able to find us."

Boone guffawed. Gunnar hadn't expected Boone knew how to actually laugh, and it startled him. "Gunn, you're really green sometimes. Of course they'll track us. We're not making a lot of effort to stay hidden."

"And you can see for miles in some places because of the open country," Arcade pointed out. 

"Okay, okay. Maybe I just want some open air around me for a while." Gunnar kicked at a rock in his path, and it skittered to one side. "What do either of you think I should do?"

"Honestly?" Arcade said. "Anything's better than the Legion. But ideally, Vegas should be independent. It is now, to a point. But you're right, it'd be a real juggling act for one person."

"Boone?"

Boone was serious again. "I don't know. NCR's got its problems, but they do keep order — try to, anyway — and California runs fine."

"Does the Mojave get a say in the government?"

Boone shrugged. "Don't know that, either. What's it matter?"

"In Primm, the NCR took over, and everyone has to now pay taxes to help cover the costs," Gunnar said, thinking out loud. "In exchange they get protection, but isn't that the same as any Mafia scheme? Does Primm get any kind of political representation in the NCR? Or are they just subject vassals?"

"What's the difference?"

"If the NCR doesn't give its subject territories a say in government, they're not really a democracy. Of course, even the old US wasn't a democracy, not really. It was a republic." He could see Boone's attention wandering. 

"It's in the name, you know," Arcade said. "New California Republic. The citizens are represented in government by elected officials."

"Yes, but the Mojave. What about it? Does it have that same representation? Or are these just conquered territories?"

Neither Arcade nor Boone had an answer for that.

"Because if Vegas will become just another territory, to pay taxes but not get any say in how things go… then I can't see the Families and the various groups being very happy with that. Nor the people in general, though maybe most of them won't care one way or another, as long as things are more or less tolerable. It's been known to happen."

"You had quite a history program in that Vault, didn't you?" Arcade said.

"Are Vault dwellers common?" Gunnar asked. "Are there a lot of them about? Neither of you seem surprised by the concept." _Am I the only one? Might there be someone else out here who understands what I’m feeling?_

"Everyone hears about Vaults," Arcade said. "They're hidden almost everywhere. But us common folk, we're descended from those who didn't make it into a Vault."

"Which means we're tougher," Boone said. "Our ancestors survived the war, the bombs, and everything that happened afterward. We weren't sheltered. Like the lucky ones who got into a Vault," he added, a little too late.

"No, no, I get what you mean. But do you get a lot of people coming out of Vaults?"

"You hear about it," Arcade said thoughtfully.

"NCR was founded by one," Boone said.

"No it wasn't."

"Yes it was," Boone insisted. "A Vault dweller who defeated an army of super mutants."

"Oh. That's right. Shady Sands, I remember now," Arcade said.

"And from there came the entire New California Republic."

"But he, or she, came out of a Vault?" Gunnar said. "How long ago was that?"

"A hundred years, maybe? Longer than anyone's been alive, I know that," Boone said.

"Descended from the original Vault inhabitants," Arcade added.

"Were there any others?"

"Well, you hear about them," Boone said. "Everyone knows those Vaults can be weird, though. Like that one you and I went into."

"But surely other people came out of Vaults. Besides me." _Please tell me there’s hope for the person I’m just starting to remember. Please tell me I’m not the only one who remembers before the war._

"You hear about it," Arcade said. "You're the first one I think I've ever met. It stands to reason that a Vault can't be self sufficient forever," he went on. "By now, more than two hundred years later, they must all be open. People come out, start towns and villages. They were never supposed to be permanently closed off." 

"That's good news for Gunn," Boone said. "We just have to find a village near a newly opened Vault. There can't be too many of those."

"Unless you traveled from somewhere farther away," Arcade said, almost happy to be devil's advocate again. "Vaults were everywhere before the War." 

"If everyone inside was asleep, the Vault wouldn't be open," Gunnar said.

"They can't be asleep all the time," Boone said.

"I mean, not like we sleep at night, but… Put into stasis. A way to sleep through the war." That was the only explanation why he remembered what he did. "And maybe longer."

"Why?" Arcade asked. "That seems like such a waste. Like putting people on the shelf for later. Why put them to sleep at all?"

"He just said, to sleep through the war," Boone said. "Big ants up there on that rise. You want to try for them, Arcade?"

"I suppose." Arcade drew his laser pistol.

"We'll be right here in case you need to run away," Boone added. 

"You get to cook whatever I shoot," Arcade threw back, and advanced on the ants.

"I hope they're not fire ants," Gunnar said.

"They aren't. Don't worry." Boone clapped him on the back. "We'll find your Vault. Probably Arcade's right, you're just from farther away than the Mojave. It'll take a little longer but someone must have seen you traveling."

"…Yeah." 

~ ~ ~

"I think we could ferment this ant nectar, if we felt like adding yet another drug to the ills of the world," Arcade said.

"Is there any other use for it?"

"Probably not. I suppose you could try to eat it, but I wouldn't risk it myself. Or… drink it, rather."

Gunnar poked at the fire with a stick; they'd agreed that they needed one tonight. Sheltered by a rock overhang, the fire warmed the area sufficiently that they ought to be comfortable for the night. It had gotten dark early, but they had the ant meat, and Gunnar had gathered more prickly pears. The bigger problem was a long dark evening without much to do but talk or think. Maybe if he'd picked up a deck of cards — ha! He should ask in Vegas and see if a whole deck existed anywhere.

"Gunn?" Boone was looking at him. "You're quiet."

"Yeah. Just… thinking. About where I came from."

"You remembered something?" Arcade asked, putting away the bottle of ant nectar.

Gunnar shrugged.

"You're worried about finding your Vault?" Boone asked.

"Yes and no."

"Just tell them the truth, you forgot everything and you found a boyfriend on the way home, and can you keep him," Arcade said. Boone rolled his eyes and didn't smile.

"No, not that. I… I don't think there'll be a problem with that, actually."

His tone made them both be more serious. "Spit it out," Boone said.

"I, ah… Hell." Gunnar ran his hand over his lower face. "Look, I don't think I grew up in a Vault. I think I'm _from_ a Vault. The things I remember, they're from before the war. I think… I remember… someone telling me I was going into the Vault, to, to stay safe from the bombs."

"But… if you were in the Vault all this time… that…" Arcade started, and stopped.

"When did you get out?" Boone asked.

"I don't know!" Gunnar got to his feet to pace. "But if I woke up, how did it happen? Where's everyone else? Why — why am I _alone?"_

He stood at the front of the shelter, the heat of the fire behind him, and put a hand against the cold rock wall.

"I can remember bits of the world before. Christmas with my family, sort of. History. How to interpret what I see, in a scientific context. The importance of documentation. Then the parts I'm trying to remember — when did I go into the Vault? How much earlier than the bombs? If he went in with me, _where is he?"_ He yelled that last part into the dark.

The only answer was the crackle of the flames. Gunnar turned back to his companions. "So you see," he said, trying to sound casual, "if I came out of the Vault — if I were asleep all this time — and nobody else is with me… They must be dead."

"No," Boone said. "It just means you're the only one awake."

Gunnar laughed, a sound with no humor in it. "And if you slept for two hundred years, wouldn't you try to wake up anyone else with you, when you woke up?"

"So what do you think happened?" Arcade's voice was calm. Dispassionate. 

"I… I don't _know_ , but I think — I think I was the only one who woke up. Or maybe the only one left." Gunnar turned back to the dark. "If anyone else had been there — anyone I knew — I would have stayed with them. I wouldn't have gone to wander the world alone. So I think, I think everyone who might have been there with me is dead."

He returned to sit by the fire with them. "I realized this a while ago. That's why I was asking you about other Vault dwellers, are they common, are there any others. Did anyone else survive like I did."

Arcade shook his head. "I'm not aware of any. At least, not in the West. But there are Vaults everywhere, as I said. It's not impossible for some of them to put people to sleep until the war was over, or longer."

"You said — " Boone began.

"I know what I said. I didn't think it could happen. But Gunnar presents the possibility that it _did_ happen, therefore it's no longer impossible. Which means, Gunnar, that you and Mr. House have more in common than you thought, if you're both from the same era."

Gunnar made a face and leaned away in distaste. "Only in that we both survived."

"Which is more than you had before. It may mean you can get an edge when dealing with him. Of course, he's been awake this entire time, and experience does count for quite a bit in the world. How old are you?"

Gunnar felt blank. "I… I'm not sure."

"You're no kid," Boone said. "You're green, but… that's because you don't know about the world. This world."

"From what you do remember," Arcade said, "could you guess? Because you know history. You said yourself, you know how you should record things, and that they should be recorded in the first place. Normally your body of knowledge would take several years at minimum to acquire."

"It might've been different back then," Boone said.

"That's true."

Gunnar tried to remember anything else that might help. 

"In Novac," Boone said. "When you were trying to wash the clothes. You said something about you're a doctor."

"That's right," Arcade said, remembering. "At the time I thought you were just sick. I asked who was the doctor, meaning myself of course, and you said you were. Then you were confused."

_Not a medical doctor_

_I get that all the time_

"Not a medical doctor," Gunnar half-whispered. 

"What other kind is there?"

"Scientists," Arcade answered Boone. "To be a 'doctor' in the old days just meant you had mastery of that knowledge."

"Historian," Gunnar said. "A person who studies and writes about, and is an authority on, the past." He remembered that now. "That's what I was."

"So you're… some kind of scientist historian?" Boone asked.

"Yes. What I remember, at least, yes. History and… how I know Latin and… things." Gunnar shook his head; it was beginning to hurt. "I think that's all I can take tonight."

"Then come over here," Boone said, and Gunnar nestled against him, Boone's strong arm around him. Warm and safe, he thought. That was important. Warm and safe… and he dozed off faster than he'd expected. 

~ ~ ~

"What do you think?"

They spoke quietly so they wouldn't wake Gunnar.

"I think he's telling the truth."

"It hurts him to remember. To try to remember."

"I noticed that. But it's memory. We couldn’t make him stop remembering even if his life depended on it. You can't help but remember."

"…Yeah."

They heard the dull rumble of either artillery fire or thunder, away in the dark.

"So he knows a lot about the old world. Still doesn't help him so much here."

"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it? To provide security and knowledge."

"I thought you came along because it was more exciting than staying in a Follower compound."

"There's that too."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar woke a little before dawn. The banked fire still gave off a little heat, but the three of them lay close to keep warm. Boone had his arm around Gunnar again, and Gunnar watched the sky go from black to deep blue.

His head felt remarkably clear. He didn't know if something had happened, or if this was the result of a good night's sleep at last, with no nightmares or dreams or interruptions. He should make the most of it. How to do that? Ah, that was trickier.

Rip van Winkle, yessir. How did that story actually go? Rip falls asleep; sleeps, what, a hundred years? A very long time, at any rate. Everyone he knows is dead. The world has changed but parts of it are still the same. People, for one thing. Whether they have cars and airplanes or brahmin and spears, people are generally still the same. Only the tools are different.

So whatever happened to good old Rip? (Rip van Winkle was an Americanized Dutch name if ever there was one.) Gunnar couldn't remember. Did he go on to have a normal life anyway? Did he meet his kids? Well, that was one thing Gunnar wouldn't have to worry about. He was fairly sure he hadn't had any children before going into the Vault. 

It sounded like most Vaults didn't put their inhabitants to sleep, but kept them locked away in their own little communities until such time as the Vault opened up. If that were true, there were a lot of Vault dwellers out there, descendants of the pre-war people, but otherwise the same as everyone else.

Great, so he was the anomaly. Now what? So he'd woken up and — 

Gunnar's eyes opened wide. That was it. _That was it._ Not Rip van Winkle. Wrong story. But he had to get information first, and the only place he could probably get that was New Vegas. If he went back, he'd have to face Mr. House — but he'd do it on his own terms. 

He didn't jump up to get started, because it was still cold outside, and very warm here next to Boone. But Arcade was in the wrong place, Gunnar thought, then wondered why he thought that. Well, as clear as his mind felt, he might still be mixing things up. He'd wait until the others got up, then they'd return to Vegas.


	22. We'll Be Together Again

"You're feeling better?" Boone asked, when they were all awake. 

"Much." Gunnar made a face at the 'coffee'. "I can't get used to this stuff."

"But it's hot, and that's what matters on a cold morning," Arcade said. "Where to now, O Sleeper of the Ages?"

"Don't call me that. We're going back to New Vegas. Boone, at McCarran, are there any archives?"

Boone shook his head and finished the last of the trail mix. "McCarran's a military base. If you want NCR history, you might want the embassy."

Gunnar's eyebrows raised in surprise. "There's an embassy? Where?"

"In Vegas."

"So's McCarran."

"No. McCarran's outside Vegas, the embassy is on the Strip. We just never went past the Tops and the Lucky 38."

"That's where we're going, then." Gunnar poured the rest of his coffee onto the remains of the fire. 

~ ~ ~

"I've got to do a lot of research," Gunnar said, as they approached the embassy. "I know what I'm looking for, but you won't, so the two of you are on your own recognizance for the time being. We'll meet at the suite in the Tops. You haven't been there, have you, Arcade?"

"No, I haven't."

"Ask for Swank and tell him you're with Gunnar Volk. If he won't let you into my suite, he'd better at least comp you for some food and drink."

"What time should we meet there?" Arcade asked.

"I assume they'll kick me out of the embassy at five, so… let's say five-thirty."

"Why would they kick you out then?" Boone wondered.

"Because government offices close at… well… they used to close at five." Gunnar brushed his hair off his forehead. "Tell you what. We'll meet at six. I'm getting a haircut today."

~ ~ ~

"You cut your hair," Gunnar accused.

"So did you." Boone's head was shaved clean again.

"Not down to the follicles, I didn't." Gunnar's coppery hair was done up with some kind of pomade. "Where's Arcade?"

"In the casino. Where'd you go for your haircut?"

"This place over on Freeside. It's supposed to wash out." Gunnar carefully touched his hair. "What do you think?"

Boone shrugged with one shoulder. "Let's find Arcade. He said something about studying the odds at the tables."

"I hope he's not gambling. The odds are always in favor of the house."

~ ~ ~

Arcade was, in fact, gambling, and had a small pile of chips in front of him. "Let me guess," Gunnar said, "you started with a large pile?"

"Incorrect." Arcade looked up at Gunnar. "What happened to your hair?"

"Never mind that. Cash in and let's go up to the suite."

~ ~ ~

"I think that pomade'll stop bullets," Boone said.

"Enough about my hair. I found — "

"This is a nice suite," Arcade said, looking about the rooms. "Not as big as the one at the Lucky 38, but it'll do."

"Yeah, it's pretty nice. It… belonged to Benny."

"Really?" Arcade looked at Gunnar, then continued exploring. "I guess you're the new boss."

"Not of the Chairmen, no. That's Swank. But for now I get Benny's room, partly because I have the only key. As far as I know, it's safe to stay here. Benny hid a lot of his activities through here, so Mr. House probably doesn't have it bugged. Stop it." Gunnar directed that last at Boone, who tried flicking Gunnar's hair with his finger.

"So did you find what you were looking for?" Arcade found the pantry wall with the cans of potato crisps. 

"Yes, I did. It was… educational. I've had a lot of educational opportunities lately, but I think this one will really pay off."

"Are you going to let us in on it?"

"Just in case Mr. House did bug this place, I'd rather not say. I hope he'll let you come in with me this time, but I doubt it. I could use the assist."

"We could storm the place," Boone suggested. 

"With all the upgraded Securitrons, I don't think that's the wisest idea. Hey, Arcade, don't go back there, that's — "

"Gah!"

"Hi there!" Yes Man chirped loudly. "Are you one of Mister Volk's friends! Because I'll have to kill you if you aren't!"

~ ~ ~

After things calmed down, Gunnar began again, "Since I doubt Mr. House will let you in there with me, I think the safest place for both of you is outside the Lucky 38."

"You talk like you're going in for a fight," Boone said with a frown.

"It might be one, yeah. I hope not," Gunnar admitted. "I don't want to die. Not for a long time. But I don't think Mr. House will be happy with me when I show up again, especially since I haven't done much for him while I was away."

"Does this have to do with your research at the embassy?" Arcade asked.

"It does." Gunnar took a can of potato crisps off the pantry shelf and opened it. "The odds favor the house, right?"

"That's how Vegas makes its money," Arcade said. "People come here from all over to give their money to the rich, hoping to win it all back."

"But fortune favors the bold, if I can play with proverbs a bit." Gunnar ate a crisp, then checked the package. "These aren't bad for how old they are."

"Can't you just spill it?" Boone said, patience wearing thin.

"Let's say that I want to boldly walk in and be ready for anything. I know what I want to do. I hope I can do it. So we'll take inventory, right now, of everything we have. Mr. House trusts in his Securitrons to protect him, and that I'm, well, a nice person."

"And nice guys finish last," Arcade said. "Which doesn't put you in a good place."

"Gee, thanks, Arcade. But I have a plan. If I can pull it off… well, we'll see if I can do that, then we'll see how things turn out afterward."

~ ~ ~

"Wait out here," Gunnar told Arcade and Boone. "I don't want you inside if things go badly. And if they do… do the best you can, I suppose. Get away fast."

Boone grabbed Gunnar's arm. "This better not be some kind of suicide mission."

"It isn't. Far from it. But you know yourself, things can go wrong. I hope this won't be one of those times."

Gunnar had left his pack in the Tops suite. He carried the handgun, all the stimpacks, and not much else. Fast and light. "My diary's back at the Tops, in case you need anything in it."

He and Boone stared at each other for a moment.

"Go on and kiss him," Arcade said impatiently. 

"Arcade…" Boone growled. But Gunnar took Boone's head in his hands and kissed him, then pressed their foreheads together. 

"Gunn — "

"I'll be fine."

"No headbutt for me?" Arcade teased.

_They. Not two. Three._

Gunnar pulled Arcade to him and, eyes closed, repeated the forehead press.

"Is this some pre-war gesture?" Arcade asked quietly.

"No." Gunnar stepped back. "Take care of each other, okay?" And he turned and walked away quickly before they could ask more.


	23. I Built a Dream One Day

"Well, hello, sugar! Mr. House is waiting for you in his office."

"Hello, Jane. You look different," Gunnar said. "Did you cut your hair?"

"How sweet of you to notice, sugar! I've been upgraded to the Mark II software, and it's peachy having these high-explosive weapons fully accessible!"

"I bet it is."

"You did something new with your hair, too, sugar. Is that what they call fashion these days?"

"I'm starting to like it out of spite."

Jane laughed. "Oh, Mister Volk, you're such a card!"

"That I am, Jane. A joker."

~ ~ ~

"Well? Have you made any progress on the Boomers?" Mr. House asked.

"Good evening to you, too, sir," Gunnar said brightly. "I'm still working on it. They're very hostile, like you said."

"I expect tangible progress soon. Is there anything else?"

"I had some questions, Mr. House."

"Very well. What did you want to discuss."

"If you've been here since the bombs fell," Gunnar asked, "does that mean you have records from before the war?"

"Some. The ones that matter to me. But even those are hardly relevant to your current work."

"Actually, I think they might be." Gunnar took a couple of slow paces in the direction of the blast door terminal and stopped. There was once a curtain to hide that door, but it had decayed over the years, with only frayed scraps still hanging limply from the rings. He turned back to the monitors. "Mr. House, I took your advice. I studied the history of the NCR, and you're right. They're struggling."

"I said as much." The electronic voice was smug. "Their so-called democracy is failing them. Those in power wish to stay in power, and they buy or browbeat others to do so."

"Aren't you doing the same thing?"

"Gunnar Volk wishes to play word games with me, I see. You have work to do."

"Yes, I do." Gunnar walked to the wall near the terminal, under pretext of studying the books there. "I'm an avid student of history, Mr. House. Some people say the past doesn't matter, but it does. You can choose to ignore the past at your own peril. It's much better to learn from it. Though that's hard for a lot of people, if history is any judge."

"What do you _want_?" Mr. House was tired of the exchange already.

"What I want… you'd think those things would be easy to achieve, but they aren't. What I've been given? That's very different." Gunnar ran a finger along the neat, dust-free matching spines of books.

"If you're going to talk in riddles, I'm leaving. I expect you to do the same and report back with results the next time I see you." But Mr. House didn't log off.

Gunnar stepped to the terminal and began to type.

~ ~ ~

Arcade and Boone watched the Lucky 38 from the Tops entrance across the street. People had grown accustomed to the new faces on the Securitrons, nothing else had happened, and it was business as usual on the strip. 

It had been some time since Gunnar had gone in. Alone. Practically defenseless, no matter how often he said he'd wandered the wasteland himself, he'd taken care of things, he — Boone sighed. Gunn knew what he was doing. If he didn't believe that, what kind of friend was he?

“You do know how, correct?”

“What?” Startled out of his thoughts, Boone looked at Arcade, wondering what the hell he meant.

"The two of you, together. It's not usual for two people to be in a close relationship and not eventually progress to more physical activities."

"Arcade…" Boone turned away. "Why do you care?" This wasn't the time.

“Just what the question implies. Do you or don’t you? I’m asking in a medical capacity, you understand. You wouldn’t be the first men to be uncertain what to do with one another, sexually.”

_Count to five before I murder him._

“And I’m a research doctor. Exactly the right person to turn to with such… questions.”

"Arcade, if you don't shut up — "

Sirens suddenly wailed inside the Lucky 38. The Securitrons all snapped to attention. Victor the robot turned on the spot and went inside the casino.

"Come on!" Boone snarled, and sprinted for the double doors.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar limped out of the restricted access elevator. Boone was going to give him holy hell about this, but Gunnar felt that it proved a point: he could take care of himself. Still hurt like fire, though.

This new place, the one the robots had tried so hard to guard, was industrial and dark and yet very clean. Gunnar gritted his teeth and leaned on the catwalk railing. Another man might have said Mr. House was a worthy adversary. Gunnar just hoped there wouldn’t be much more fighting, or he'd be in worse shape.

He used the railing for support as he made his way down the catwalk, the sirens wailing dully in the floors above him. They sounded like the old missile alert sirens, and maybe they were; maybe they were the original warning equipment from the war.

_I'm coming for you, Mr. House,_ he thought, and smiled grimly to himself. That was too melodramatic. Besides, better not to give away his position, such as it was. 

At the end of the catwalk was a computer station; beyond that, still reachable, was a tomb. Gunnar thought of Lenin, embalmed and under glass for generations to venerate. He limped to the glass casing and looked in.

"Is that you, Mr. House?" he whispered. There were no speakers here, no great monitors for the master of New Vegas to communicate. The body inside the tomb — sarcophagus, Gunnar corrected himself — looked withered and dried-up as any mummy removed from the Valley of the Kings. Yet it must still be alive; the tubes and lights and pumps worked, breathing for it, moving its blood, however thin that must be after all this time.

_So this is how you survived,_ Gunnar thought. _When your body began to fail, maybe even earlier, you put yourself in here. That must be the apparatus to connect your brain to the computers… which is why you only talk through them, and why only robots enter the Lucky 38._

_Until me._

~ ~ ~

Boone and Arcade took cover behind a large stone planter that held a faded hard-plastic palm tree. The doors to the Lucky 38 were sealed, Victor the robot was inside, and nobody had responded to Boone's pounding on the doors to open up.

Then other problems had surfaced, like two different hit squads arriving at the same time. One of them was probably Legion, Boone figured, but the other one had been a mystery until the energy weapons began firing.

"The Van Graffs," Arcade said. "What's their stake in this?"

"Gunn reported them for murdering their competition."

"Even after he knew they're killers? Well, that's Gunnar for you."

The assassins chased Boone and Arcade, as known confederates of their chosen target, and the Securitrons chased the assassins, and anyone with a grain of sense ran for the best cover they could find.

It sounded like it was over, though, one way or another. Boone carefully looked over the top of the planter. "Robot doesn't even look touched," he muttered.

"What a delightful way to learn the capabilities of upgraded Securitrons." Arcade listened. "The sirens have stopped."

They had.

The Securitrons returned to their positions. "The disturbance at — The Strip — has been neutralized. Please do not be afraid to patronize — The Strip," they announced in unison.

"What the hell's happening in there?" Arcade said, meaning the Lucky 38.

"I think we'll wait a moment before we try again."

~ ~ ~

Now that he'd figured out how to shut off the sirens, Gunnar muddled through the rest of the terminal commands. It helped that RobCo had cornered the computer market so thoroughly; once you knew the commands, they usually weren't too specialized from module to module. This one was one of the special ones, but it made sense, if Mr. House had mummified himself. He wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do this.

Ah! There. Gunnar typed in the commands. 

_Microbial infection possible. Proceed?_

Gunnar studied that for a long minute. At last he typed _Yes_.

Seals opened with hisses of escaping air. The sarcophagus' glass cover retreated, complaining after lying still for so long. _How long, Mr. House? It couldn't be the whole two hundred years. I bet you were my father's generation. He'd have some choice words about me right now, same as you, I expect._

The platform holding the desiccated body moved up, then out, so Mr. House was mostly vertical. The papery eyelids opened, but in the poor light, Gunnar couldn't tell if the sunken eyes saw him.

"It's me, Mr. House. Gunnar Volk."

The body on the slab would have writhed, except that implied strength and energy it didn't have. It spoke, but the voice came from a box on its throat. "Why have you… done this?" Mr. House rasped, as though every word might be his last. "…centuries of preparation… so much good, undone…"

"Mr. House, do you know the story of the founding of the NCR?" Gunnar asked. "How Vault 13 kicked out its savior, and the Vault Dweller founded the town of Arroyo with people he'd gathered. He led his new tribe to greatness, and his daughter took over the tribe… well, you're probably not that interested in the details, but it's fascinating, really."

Mr. House's labored breathing was the only response.

"It explains a lot about the NCR's current problems, why they don't get along with their neighbors, you might say." Gunnar wished there was a chair so he could take the weight off his mangled leg, but he settled for easing himself onto the computer console instead. "So, you see, there's some precedent for someone from a Vault coming to power."

"If personal gain… what you sought… should've done… as asked…"

"And been a good boy, and not questioned anything, and done as I was told. You and Father would've gotten along great. Or hated each other. Probably that." Gunnar gritted his teeth against a wave of pain from his leg. 

"Is that… how you see me?…"

"No. You're not him. I don't remember much about him, though I probably will someday. Enough to know that I don't like either of you."

The body spasmed. "Fool… to let… personalities… derail future… of mankind? …Stupid!"

Gunnar shrugged. "I can tell you a different story," he said. "History is important, see. Knowing the past, and the more you know, the more you can use. Just like Caesar did. Like he still does. And if he can do it, so can I."

Gunnar eased his leg to a slightly less uncomfortable position. "Do you know the story of Frederick Barbarossa? I'm sure you don't. One of the great kings of German history. In the Middle Ages, there was a legend about him, that he was the king under the mountain, sleeping until his people needed him. When he was most needed, he would wake, and fight to defend his land."

"A… fairy story…"

"Belief is a powerful thing, Mr. House. People believe they can come to Vegas and strike it rich, despite all the evidence otherwise. The Mojave is threatened on all sides. I woke from a Vault. Now I'm here. And now, I'm going to fight."

"You… fool…" Mr. House's laugh was a bitter wheeze. "Your… vanity project… doomed to fail…"

"Maybe. I hope not. But I'll do it for myself, and for the Mojave. Not for you or the NCR or Caesar. I thought you'd like to know. And I'll keep you here for advice. If I'm your protege, it's only appropriate that I come to you for guidance now and then, don't you think?"

Gunnar carefully stood and turned to the keyboard.

"…Don't disable… cerebral… I'd rather be… killed… just kill… me…"

"I couldn't do that, Mr. House. I don't like murdering helpless people outright. I already think about that too much. So I'll put you back in your tube, good as new. You won't be able to control anything, but — "

"No!" Mr. House's pitiful body twisted on its slab. "No… ruined everything… exposed… germs… a year of… life, if… at most…"

"Then I'll make sure to check in on you now and then." Gunnar typed at the keyboard, and the platform retreated back to the sarcophagus. "Thank you for this opportunity, sir."

Mr. House's response was lost in the clicks of locks and the hisses of pressurized air as the chamber sealed itself. Gunnar watched it for a few moments, as long as his stamina could stand it. Then he looked at the screen again. 

Mr. House was still alive, but offline, no longer in control. He'd done it. Now he just had to get out of here and get some medical assistance before he collapsed in the elevator. Get Boone and Arcade in here, bring Yes Man over, and shore up his defenses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading my story! There is still a long way to go, but Part 3 is now complete. :) I am taking a week off as I'll be traveling, then I'll be back with Part 4 and the consequences of Gunnar's decision.
> 
> HeroForge mockup of Gunnar Volk:  
> [](https://laridian.smugmug.com/FNV/n-Hq8QXR/i-jXGCjT3/A)


End file.
